


You're On Your Own, Kid

by ThemSoundwaves



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger, Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Consensual Underage Sex, Dark, Drinking, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friendship, Guilt, Hatred, Hiding Medical Issues, M/M, Mental Instability, Out of character anger, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Secrets, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Violence, mild bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-16 07:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThemSoundwaves/pseuds/ThemSoundwaves
Summary: Its no secret that when Bluestreak talks, only a select few listen. He's a chatterbox, and probably always will be. For as long as anyone could remember him, Thats what he was. He could babble for days, if you let him. Throughout the growing war, Bluestreak had been one of the best mechs adept in keeping autobots hopes high, and their morale strong. He was always happy, smiling, a beam of love in an otherwise cruel world. Many Autobots took that Bluestreak for granted, When the young mechs world begins to change around him, and hes having a hard time holding on, Will any of the autobots pay enough attention to notice the newfound darkness in his optics? Or will he be forced to endure his mistake alone? [[TEEN AND UP BECAUSE I KNOW SOME TEENAGERS ARE MATURE ENOUGH TO READ THIS CONTENT, IF YOU DO NOT THINK YOU ARE MATURE ENOUGH DO NOT READ. THIS FIC IS VERY DARK AND CAN BE TRIGGERING, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK]]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning everyone. Ive been up all night writing to suppress these demons that beg me to plot. This work is different from most of my other ones, because i gave myself an hour to work on each chapter. Usually, I spend up to a month writing chapters pre in advance, But i found when i work on them, edit them, and take to long with them, my muse for those works dies over time. With this work, im writing, writing and writing, i look it over once, then post. The chapters may not be long like my other fic's, might not be as detailed either, but its written from the heart for those of you who enjoy this kind of genre, or read it to relate. its a tamed version, yes. but i still worked plenty hard on it, and i look foreword to seeing how you all feel! 
> 
> I DO NOT OWN TRANSFORMERS OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS IN THE STORY [For now OC's may casually pop up]  
> >>>>>WARNINGS<<<<<  
> >>>>>>>>>>>>The first couple chapters will be dark, gritty, and full of evil deeds. MATURE READERS ONLY! I am NOT going to 'sweeten' it up for you, or 'skip' the scene as many others do. You're going to get all the details... horrific or not. so brace yourselves, oh, and.... If you don't like this kind of thing, don't read it, Don't comment. Thats why i warn you in advance. I've censored many of my writings before. Not this time<<<<<<<<<<<<
> 
> I do hope you enjoy this little muse my brain has birthed. have a great night/day guys, and see you next update! for now...Chapter one!

**CHAPTER ONE.**

Junkyard muse.

  _'Such a lonely day..._

_and its mine..._

_The most loneliest day of my life._

 

_Such a lonely day,_

_Should be banned_

_Its the day that i cant stand_

_The most loneliest day of my life_

_The most loneliest day of my life._

 - _ **System of a down, Lonely day.**_

 

It was a nice day today, Bluestreak observed, as he wondered through the bases’ halls. It was mid-morning, and it seamed the base itself was calm. His wings waggled behind him, as he half trotted half walked towards the nearby recreational room. On a nice day like this, with no Decepticons in sight, There was sure to be ‘bots hanging out in the basic lounge area, drinking and talking, and everything else under the earthen sun. Bots he could talk to, bots he could entertain, bots that could distract him from his thoughts, from the war for a while.

He stood in front of the Rec. rooms’ doors, and waited. The automatic doors had a bit of a delay, Something Wheeljack kept casually mentioning he’d fix, but everyone knew it wasn't important enough in the inventors agenda for him actually take time in carrying out. The doors hissed open, creaking just slightly, moving to reveal the room before him. In the rec room, there was a stage, a bar, tables and couches, an area designated the TV corner, with large makeshift recliners and the biggest TV the humans could manage building for them. An energon station, a large empty concrete square in the middle of the room that could hardly be called a dance floor. He saw an array of faces, though, only two of which were faces that actually liked talking to him.

Bluestreak was a young mech, The youngest among them. And though he was young, he was still strong and mature, at least, he liked to think he was mature. In a few cycles, Bluestreak would be turning seventeen vorns. He didn't exactly know what cycle his creation date was… but he knew it was soon. He could barely remember his life on Cybertron. He was just a sparkling when the war broke out, his earliest memory was that of his brother, Prowl, Showing him Praxus’s Crystal garden.

The young Paraxians door wings perked up as he began over towards the TV area, where Ironhide sat on the couch [that was actually a couple crates and some blankets] Hound was quite literally reclined on the recliner beside the large red Autobot, so much so that his body was entirely flattened [As much as the pudgy mech’s body could flatten that is]. Sunstreaker was also there, staring at a datapad, calmly poking at its screen. As he approached, Bluestreak could hear the subtle sounds of an in-game character grunting, and some gritty fighting noises coming from the datapad. Bluestreak couldn't guess how long the yellow twin had been playing his game, but from what came next, he guessed it had been a while.

“Primus, That game sounds like slag.” Hound Voiced, stretching one of his legs, causing the recliner to squeak at the movement. “2-bit garbage. Keep hearing that same sound over and over again...” As he finished, Sunstreakers datapad uncannily made the yelping sound that Hound was talking about. “That! That right there. Is it a girl or a puppy? Who knows, but its annoying.” He unraveled an oil treat from a package. Rung had made a habit of creating earten-born treats for the Autobots to indulge in. Hound was undoubtedly Rungs regular customer.

Bluestreak came up and sat on the couch next to Ironhide. He watched the older mech, his blue optics glued to the television, which was playing Supernatural. Sunstreaker grunted something, that sounded an awful lot like ‘Eat shit bitch’ But the young doorwinger wasn't exactly keeping an audio out on the twin. Out of everyone, Sunstreaker was the one much who made it indefinitely clear that he didn’t like Bluestreaks talking habit. So, being as respectful as he was, the gray mech chose to just ignore him entirely.

“Hi, Hide.” Bluestreak said as he sat down, Ironhide looked over at him, and managed a small smile. “Blue.” he greeted. It was quiet a moment, and Bluestreak squirmed. “I was wondering if you could maybe show me that move you were talking about the other day?” Bluestreak began, hopeful optics staring in ironhides direction. Ironhide was half paying attention to the youngling, half concentrating on the show and its action scene. Though, Ironhide did not answer, because he knew Bluestreak was going to add more. “I know im super good at sniping, But I thought it over when I was trying to sleep the other night. That one time when Brawl got in front of me and tackled me, I didn’t know what to do! Thank Primus you were there to pull him off, or id be Steeljaw chow for sure!”

Ironhide put a hand on his shoulderpad. “Ill show yah kid, But not now. I've been waitin’ two months for this episode. Red Alert broke the DVR, Cant record it, gotta watch it.” He said this, optics glued to the screen. “But ill come find ya after an’ we can go through tha steps, Alright?” Bluestreaks doorwings drooped just an inch, but he understood. The youngling smiled at Ironhide, swinging his legs. “Okay! We can practice it later.” he agreed

Sunstreakers datapad once more made that noise, Bluestreak didn't look to the culprit of the sound, but to the victim of it. He watched as Hound tensed up, and glared at the yellow autobot. Sunstreaker looked up, and returned Hounds glare with heated and serious optics. He tapped the screen, each tap caused that yelping sound to ring out. Hounds optic ridges furrowed. Sunstreaker turned up the volume, until the yelping overcame Ironhides show.

“Can you not?” Hound shouted, slapping his servos down against the recliners armrests. Sunstreaker continued with a straight face, until Hound was forced to act. He grunted heavily as he attempted to sit up. Sunstreaker smirked. “That's right fat-aft, You want it to stop? Come stop it.” Hound literally growled, but it wasn't the green tracker who acted on Sunstreakers taunt. In a swift motion, Ironhide bolted up out of his seat, snagged the datapad out of Sunstreakers grip, and promptly smashed it into the side of his face, breaking and shattering the glass on Sunstreakers prominent cheekplates. His movements had been so fast, Bluestreak couldn’t even fathom how he’d gotten from one end of the couch, to Sunstreaker quick enough for the sniper to be unable to pick up his movements.

Sunstreaker sat there, barely processing what just happened. Ironhide tossed the broken datapad to the floor. “Yer fraggin annoyin’ Im watchin’ somethin’ jerk yerself off somewhere else.” Bluestreak saw the hostility flash in Sunstreakers optics. Bluestreak was quick to get up onto his feet.

“Ha!” Hound barked out in laughter. “Fragger. Get leashed.” He laid back down, relaxing again. Sunstreaker puffed up his chest. Standing up to level with Ironhide, who towered over him, fuming from the interruption to his show. Without a word, Sunstreaker lashed out in a fury of movements, Ironhide skillfully dodged each one, he grabbed the yellow twin by shoulders, kicked him in the tanks, twisted one of his arms and brought his knee down on his back, Sunstreaker was forced to kneel. Bluestreak slowly backed up. Slowly… war mechs in action could pounce at anything, and Bluestreak didn’t want to be the next Sunstreaker.

“Yer a child. Bluestreaks more mature then you. Sit yer aft down and shut up or go away, Not tolerating your slag today.” Bluestreak didn’t stick around for the rest. Though, he did hear Hounds booming laughter as he made his way out of the recreational room. Judging by its strength, Sunstreaker hadn’t taken well to Ironhides threat.

Just another day in the autobot base.

Bluestreak scanned the base as he once more traveled through the halls, Looking for one mech he knew always had time for him. Nearly half an hour later, with no sighting of the scout, Bluestreak made his way to the communications hub. Unsurprisingly, Optimus was the only mech there. He was looking over a virtual map of the state they were in, Nevada. Humming to himself as he most likely, thought over some battle tactics.

“Excuse me, Optimus?” Came the younglings voice, echoing through the large room. Optimus turned, optics denting at the bottom, showing he was smiling. Optimus had always been kind to Bluestreak, but the sniper never actively seeked the leader out, especially not to ‘Hang out’. He just didn’t seam like that kind of mech.

Bluestreak doubted Oprimus even understood the term.

“Yes, Bluestreak?” Prime answered, giving the youngling his full attention. Bluestreak fumbled nervously. Shoulders risen. He cleared his throat, Optimus Prime waited patiently. “Um.” Bluestreak said. He’d been around Optimus most of his life? Why was he getting the nerves now? “Um. I was wondering if you knew where Bumblebee was?” He asked quietly. “He promised that we’d go collect some rocks soon, and its a real nice day! So I was going to ask if we could do it today….” He trailed off, noticing Optimus almost guilty look.

“I’m sorry Bluestreak, but Bumblebee is out on recon. He wont be back until nightfall. When he returns, I will tell him that you were looking for him.” Bluestreaks wings drooped more, they truthfully hadn't recovered after Ironhides rejection. He cleared his throat again, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice when he said “Oh, That’s okay, Thank you anyway.” He turned and left, Optimus watching after him with sparkling blue optics. He simply stared at the door until the sniper exited, and the automatic doors clicked closed. He turned back to his map, and sighed.

Once again, Bluestreak was wondering the halls, searching for something to do, someone to be with. He was a mech who usually relied on others to feel safe. The autobots may have been friendly, but he knew when to advance, and when to withdrawl. There were only a hand full of mech’s in the base who didn’t seam entirely annoyed with him. And it looked like those handfull of mechs, were currently otherwise occupied.

So, he turned to the one mech he knew liked him. Prowl

He stopped in front of his brothers office, and reached up to knock. His hand stopped short. There, hanging from a pin, was a do not disturb sign. Bluestreak knew better then anyone the working moods Prowl could work himself into. He should’ve known on a day like this, Prowl would be nose deep in documents and datapads. His doorwings now hung behind him like a cape, and his hand came down to slowly rest at his side. Go figure, on a calm day like this, no one would bother to be with him. He felt hurt run in his spark, as he turned and trasnformed. He could go bother Ratchet, or watch Wheeljack work, but he was already afraid of the outcome. Neither bot minded him, Ratchet mostly. But they were older, and didn’t exactly share his view of fun.

He peeled down the halls, towards the bases exit. Since he was doomed to be alone, Bluestreak decided to visit his favorite place. Several miles past the nearest town, there was a Junkyard. It was called Just Junk. Humans usually dropped off a variety of different things, all non-perishables. He came here every week to see what the humans had discarded. The sniper collected many things that they’d left behind. Things that had no real use, but attracted the younglings optics. The humans stopped him, asking him questions on where he was going, before they cleared him to leave. He revved his engine and kicked up dirt, soaring down the desert towards the nearest town, leaving a trail of yellow dust behind him.

He arrived half an hour later. The daylight shined among the junk, and Bluestreak could already see that it had a fresh delivery the day before. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. There were no homes nearby, and there were never humans just hanging around here. He stepped over the gate, careful not to knock it over, and he smiled. For such a talkative guy, Being here in the silence was peaceful, and he found he liked it, sometimes more so then being with one of his friends.

Bluestreak began to rummage around the newly created pile. He had no standards, so he felt no shame ribbing through junk. He pulled out a broken lavalamp, which was leaking its red and orange fluids onto the ground at his feet. After sitting it down, he pulled a tire out of the pile, and tossed it aside, he looked into the hole the tire had been, and spotted something shiny on the ground. It was small, so when he reached out to pick it up, he had to be careful not to crush it in his hands. It was a ring. A very pretty, red diamond ring. It looked expensive, Had he not been a sniper with a good optic, he would've missed it entirely.

There was a thrumming in the distance. At first he thought it was a large truck passing by on the highway not to far from here, but it got louder until the sound was damn near unmistakable. A helicopter, But whose? The young mech ducked down, using the new heap of junk as cover, just as Vortex’s altmode could be seen, puttering closer to the Junkyard.

“oo, fraggit, fraggit.” The youngling nervously stuttered out. When in a fight, he’d never been alone before. This was his first time encountering a decepticon on his own. Why was he here? A junk yard of all places?

He heard Vortex transform and land, his mass shaking the ground and causing some junk to tumble down the heap that was protecting the sniper from view. “Go get some scrap metal Vortex.” The Decepticon mocked, as he pulled out a blaster and shot one of the piles several times. “You’re the best at finding junk Vortex, Meh eh.” He shot another pile, then reached down and threw half a car out of his way. “Bastards think I'm just a fetcher. Why cant Starscream do it? Why cant Skywarp? Why ME?” Bluestreak couldn’t do anything about what happened next. When Vortex lifted his blaster to shoot angrily again, He aimed it at the snipers pile, Bluestreak was just trying to keep quiet, hoping Vortex would take what he needed, and leave. He couldn’t have predicted Vortex would shoot his scrap heap, Nor could he predict where the blaster’s bullet landed.

He let out a shriek of pain as the bullet tore apart the junk pile, and hammered straight through his shoulder strut. Energon splashed up onto his face, the floor, his hands. He grabbed at the wound in shock, jutting foreword. He knew his sound was heard, he forced himself up onto his feet, and took off towards the gate. It was too late, Vortex had closed the distance, and grabbed him by his doorwing. He yanked Bluestreak back, and delivered one hard punch to the paraxians tanks. Bluestreak doubled over, his vents heaving, small noises of pain escaped him.

“Oh, What luck.” Vortex purred, he knelt down, and grabbed the yonglings face, red visor burning into his watering blue optics. Bluestreak struggled against him, wishing Ironhide had taught him those defensive moves sooner. Bluestreak punched out, striking Vortex in the face, he then kicked the mech’s feet out from under him, before turning to scramble onto his pedes. Vortex reached out and grabbed his pede, stood up and dragged the younger mech towards him. Bluestreak, belly down in the dirt, felt the heat of Vortex’s blaster against his spinal strut. “You move, you get paralyzed.” The Decepticon promised. Bluestreak stilled, Optics wide, right side of his face sunken in the dirt

His vents hitched, his engine whined. He felt the Decepticons shadow loom over him, as he knelt down. “Maybe now they wont keep sending me on scrap duty.” Vortex mused, he looked the autobot over, optics lingering over his doorwings. His rotary blades draped behind him then rested, he reached out and ghosted his fingers across Bluestreaks trembling gray wings. “Or...” He trailed off a moment, letting the tips of his pointed digits softly scrape down to the rotation joints at the doorwings base.

“I could make this fun.” His facemask pulled back, and he smirked down at the young body below him. Laying there completely at his mercy. “You know, i’ve never had the privilege of seeing a Paraxan this close. Prowls always been elusive, but your wings, compared to his?” Vortex’s armor flexed, then loosened as he relaxed. He centered his kneeplate so that it was between the Autobots wings. “Beautiful.” Something glimmered in his visor, nothing short of a newfound obsession. He ran his hand down its length, completely transfixed, Bluestreak twitched at the motion, his wing trying to flick out of his reach. “Look at that. Sensitive.”

His smirk widened. Bluestreak tried to calm his breaths, but found it hard with the increasing weight on his back. He felt Vortex run his servos down his back, towards his aft, and it was then he realized this was no longer about his wings, Or the Decepticons, Or the war. No, It was something else entirely, As he laid there, held down by the bigger frame, realization striking him powerfully.

How was he getting out of this?

 

_Such a lonely day..._

_and its mine..._

_The most loneliest day of my life._

 

_Such a lonely day,_

_Should be banned_

_Its the day that i cant stand_

_The most loneliest day of my life_

_The most loneliest day of my life._

 - _ **System of a down, Lonely day.**_

TBC…..


	2. Red Diamond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a dark chapters, all warnings apply. read at your own risk. You have been warned.

**CHAPTER TWO**

.Red Diamonds.

  


Dirty energon stained digits clutched the sandy earth, He stared at them with widened optics. The blaster shot to his shoulder burned and ached, but the panic in his systems overwhelmed it, making it background noise more then anything. Bluestreak never saw Vortex up close before either, he’d taken a couple shots at him during battles, and watched him drop bombs as well in his helicopter mode. He looked big from a distance… He was even bigger up close.

Vortex grabbed him by the armor cuff around the back of his neck, None to gently he dragged him up onto his feet, before depositing him against the same junk pile he’d used to protect himself only seconds ago. There was no guilt on his face, no disgust at his actions in that crimson tinted visor. Just a smirk, that smirk, It seared deep in his memories, imprinting its crooked uplift into his processor, Just that face alone, he would never forget.

When the Decepticon knelt down and pressed his hand against the young autobots upper chest, a memory flashed through him. A warning. A long time ago, when he was just able to speak and walk, and make friends with the people of the Ark, Prowl pulled him aside, and warned him of this very thing. At that point, He’d hardly remembered seeing any Decepticons, Since during that time frame, They’d been escaping Cybertron, and roaming space looking for an outpost to colonize. They were attacked occasionally, but the Autobots fought them off from being boarded each and every time.

_‘_ _You see this symbol?’ Prowl said, holding up a small datapad with the Decepticon symbol enlarged in the middle of the screen. Bluestreak nodded. Tilting his helm_ _whilst_ _he inspected it. ‘This is the mark of a bad mech. You see this, you run the other_ _way. Do not fight him until youre trained enough. They do bad things, very bad things. They will hurt you, or kill you without hesitation, do you understand?’ Bluestreak, at the time, didn’t understand. He was still grasping the concept of war and death, He poked at the symbol smile forming._

_‘It Pointy, I like the point here, It reminds me of Shattermaster, you remember shattermaster? Our cyberhound? Is he ever coming back, Prowl? I miss him….’ Something flashed in Prowls optic, he grabbed his brothers wrist as he traced the symbol, staring intently into his blue optics, So much worry bled from his dark blue lenses, worry Bluestreak had never seen before. ‘This is serious Bluestreak.’ Prowl said, his voice deepening to prove his point. The little doorwings on Blue’s back lowered at the ton._

_‘Don’t let them get you...’ Bluestreak saw a ghost in his brothers optics form as he spoke, haunted tone suggesting this theme was not new to him. ‘They will not treat you like I do. Do you understand?’ When bluestreaks helm moved to stare at something behind Prowl, His older brother grabbed his pale gray faceplates, and not-so-gently forced him to look him in his face. ‘Do you understand?’ Bluestreak nodded hesitantly, though, He wouldnt understand the meaning behind his brothers fears, until the far, far future. ‘I understand.’_

He was _s_ haken from his memory loop when icy cold digits cupped his interface panel. His optics flashed brightly, and he stared down at it in horror. “Good… Thought you passed out on me there.” Vortex told him, his voice dripping with lust, He began running circles over his panel, tracing the edges of the seams with his cold fingers. Bluestreak tensed, He had to do something. He couldn’t just… let it happen. With an outcry of fear, the gray sniper brought his head foreword and bashed it into Vortex’s. He heard the glass of his visor crack at the action. He squirmed, trying to get away from the strong arms that had a hold on him. When vortex’s grip loosened, he kicked the older mech in the panel, and scrambled out from beneath him. He grabbed the nearest solid object, and brought it down on the decepticons helm with a swing that brought further pain to his injured shoulder. He whined, moaning at the sharpness of the agony raced through the entirety of his arm. He lost his balance, energon loss doing him no good for his escape.

He looked up, watching vortex rise, his frame tense, armor panels hugged tight to his body. He was no longer smirking, but that deadpan look spread across his faceplates could kill. Bluestreak held the makeshift weapon with a strong grip, as he staggered to the side, trying to keep his balance. “Who would’ve thought, An Autobot who cant fight front lines?” Vortex sneered. “Lucky for me, Thats my specialty. You want to fight? Fine.” He reached behind him and pulled two of his helicopter blades from his back, which formed swords as he brought them to his front. Vortex saw the terror in the younglings lenses, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on.

He tossed one of the blades at Bluestreaks pedes, It clattered and rolled, and stopped just short of its tip. He was shaking, his vents were uneven, his optics darted around hoping someone would show up to help him… But he remembered. Everyone at the base was too busy for the youngling. He was on his own. He dropped the junk in his hand and reached down for the sword, he gripped it with a trembling digits. He took up a defensive position. The blade was heavy in his servo, and dread overcame him as the larger Decepticon shifted his weight to his left. “’Least now, I can beat you to submission so you won’t keep pushing back.” He said.

And with that, He lunged. Bluestreak brought up his sword to deflect the first strike, which it did, but the impact sent him stumbling back. Vortex did not wait for him to regain his stability, He crashed his sword continuously into the young mechs own blade, forcing him back, back, and back. In a move of alarm the Autobot dashed to the right and ran behind Vortex when he swung again, Bluestreak slashed out, his blade striking Vortex’s rotary blades. The decepticon let out a grunt, but the force of the strike was not strong enough to draw energon. The Helicopter reeled back, and stared at the Autobot, that smirk returning.

“You’re cute.” He replied. Dashing foreword, he was once again coming at the sniper with attacks that he could barely manage to block. Vortex raised his blade loosely in one arm, and brought it down in a horizontal slashing motion, the blades tip struck Bluestreaks chassis, digging deep into his tanks. The spasm of agony that slash brought had the weapon dropping from the younglings grip. He let out a cry, and grabbed at the wound, once more watching energon seep through his digits.

Vortex didn’t wait. He walked up to the mech, dropped his own sword, and punched him right in the face. Bluestreak lost his balance, if he wasn't going to fall at first, the kick the decepticon laid to his wounded tanks, would have had him on his aft for sure. When the autobot hit his back, the wind rushed out of his vents. He couldn’t believe how pathetic that had been on his part. Was he really that useless? Vortex once more knelt over him, basically straddling the smaller cybertronian.

“Prowl would be really disappointed in you, Young one.” He jibed. He wasted no time clutching at the downed younglings panel again, this time he did it eagerly. He pressed his palm into it, causing Bluestreak to squirm uncomfortably. He pressed his digits in a pattern among the sensitive wires that lined the outer ridges of his panel. To his horror, the Autobots interface panel popped open to the urges, without hesitation. His spike unraveled, twitching from the cold air that assaulted it. He’d never been touched down there, and only touched himself once. His tanks churned, and he felt a sickness rising in him, when Vortex wrapped his large digits around his spike, enclosing it in warmth.

Vortex watched the autobot tense up, then he moved to inspect the member. Dark gray, like his armor, red ribbed, and pretty big, for someone his age. He knew, almost instantly, how noobish the autobot was at just the one touch. His other hand came down to inspect his port, small and untouched. He only had to press the tip of his digit in to know he was sealed. Bluestreak whined at the motion, faceplates heating up involuntarily.

His wounds pounded in tune with his spark, but he found he couldn’t focus on that pain, when Vortex began working his spike, it hardened almost instantly. Disgust welled up in Bluestreak, upon finding the Decepticons actions actually felt… good. Vortex noticed this, his smirk never leaving. He gripped the younglings spike harder, pumping it just a few decibels faster. He whimpered again, Squirming a little below him. “Thats right, little Blue. Don’t fight it.” Vortex cooed, wiping some pre transfliud off Bluestreaks tip with his thumb.

He dropped his helm to the dirt, optics focusing and uncofusing. He felt dizzy, and an array of different emotions that were all negative. His helm lulled to the side, when something shiny burried halfway in the dirt from their duel caught his optics. It was that ring. That red diamond ring, sitting there, facing him, Watching him get defiled. Like a constant reminder that he was alone. As if the pumping wasnt enough, Vortex slid one of his digits roughly into his port, Bluestreak let out a yelp, the action stretching his sensitive walls, sending discomfort throughout him. His walls clenched around his digit. He tried to pull himself back, to get the digit out of him, but vortex simply grabbed his leg, and yanked him back down, the action shoving the intrusion deeper into him.

“Didn’t know a ‘bot could be this tight…” Vortex moaned out. He abandoned his spike in favor of reaching up to cup his face, then force his pre-fluid covered thumb into Bluestreaks mouth. Bluestreaks face scrunched, He bit down on the digit, which only sealed his fate. Vortex let out a sharp cry of pain, then pulled his servo back and wrapped it around his neck, choking him with an incredible amount of pressure. Bluestreak reached up and grabbed at his hand, trying to loosen it so his vents could cycle, but Vortex was having none of it.

“Fine. I wont be gentle.” This words, Those words were the last words he could understand fully. Vortex shifted, and panic once more rose in bluestreak, he looked down, just in time to see Vortex’s own large, purple glowing spike uncurl from its nest. “No.” Bluestreak managed grittily. He gasped for air and pulled his legs tight together. Vortex applied more pressure to his neck as punishment to his action. He dug his kneeplates between the snipers thighs, and forced them apart.

“You deserve this, Autoscum.” Vortex rebuked, He stared the youngling right in his distressed optics, when he thrusted his entire length deep into his valve. Though he was being choked, Bluestreak let out a shrill screech of agony, as the Decepticons spike tore through his seal, and ripped up the walls of his port. His optics flashed white, audios ringing from the intentness of his scream. It did not stop there, Oh how he wished it had. His entire frame lit up with sparks of agony, with each thrust that only seamed to go deeper, and deeper inside him. Energon seeped between his legs pooling at the floor and running under his aft, mixed with Vortex’s transfluid.

In his hysteria, Bluestreak could no longer mentally follow his actions. He was grabbing at the decepticon, shoving at him. Stretching away from him. Clear coolant tears pooled at the edges of his optics, and ran down his cheeks when he tossed his helm to the side and struggled. Each time the youngling protested, Vortex retaliated by slamming even harder into him. Was he screaming? Yeah, he was screaming, sobbing, gasping, his voice grating as he begged the older decepticon to stop. He didn’t of course. Moaning above him, making sounds, speaking words Bluestreak could no longer understand.

About halfway through, the pain overcame him, His vocalizer cut out. The Decepticon was rough, too rough. He choked, scratched, and dug his claws into the autobots frame. He leered over him, Kissing his neck, his lips, his face. Arms reached behind him to grope and molest his wings, biting hard into his neckwires, taring them open, leaving dents in his armor. It got to the point where Bluestreak was in so much agony, that he could no longer feel the entirety of the pain, just the thrusting, and the feeling of an all too large spike shoving in and out of him.

His optics unfocused, when Vortex sputtered something, grabbed him roughly and spun him onto his stomach. He pulled out for just a moment when he did so. That moment was the biggest relief Bluestreak thought a mech could ever feel, that was, until Vortex forked his aft upward, and impaled his spike into him again. And somehow… from this position.. it felt worse. The spike violated him deeper, touched parts of his body he didn't know existed. His face sunk in the dirt, some of the particles sticking to his sticky face, but he didn’t care, how could he care? How could he care about anything?

He just wanted it to stop, When would it stop? His optics zeroed in on that red Diamond ring, sparkling in the now late-day light. Mocking him, pestering him, reminding him once more that he was weak for letting this happen. Seconds blurred to minutes, and the younglings attention zoned solely on that ring, He focused on it, with every fiber of his being. Using it as as a crutch to ignore what was being done to him. His digits loosened its clutch on the sand, His optics flickered, a warning flashed in the corner of his optics, telling him to seek medical attention immediately.

His vision began to darken, his frame was cold. He couldn’t tell if it was rapidly becoming night, or if he was going blind. His processor felt stressed, almost like it was freezing over. He was going numb, and though he could barely feel Vortex thrusting into him anymore, He sure did feel it when he overloaded, It felt like lava, shooting into his torn up insides, burning and leaking into the cuts and lacerations his rough treatment had created.

The red-hot liquid lighting up every sensory node painfully as it traveled and pooled inside him. Past his broken seal, Past everything. He felt himself going unconcious, Vortex ran his servos across his wings one more time, before he flipped the limp Bluestreak once more onto his back. The last thing he heard, before his world faded to black, was Vortex’s heavy vents, and his cruel, amused words. “Still some daylight left.” A bitter laugh. “Im not done yet.” Bluestreak gratefully let his processor shut down, Hoping death could spare him from this torture, But he wasn’t so lucky, and he should’ve known so. His dull, lifeless blue optics stayed focused on that diamond ring, as it lost its shine, and darkness swallowed it whole.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC...


	3. Favorite Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings still apply for this chapter,

**CHAPTER THREE**

Favorite place

  


He woke up screaming, not from a nightmare, If only it had been, but from agony. It seamed, during the several moments his processor had given out on him, his body was able to heal… if only a fraction, his vocalizer being the one thing above all else, working again. The one thing he actually didn’t care for. He was getting tired of his screams, he hated hearing the anguish in his voice, he hated feeling the energon on his glossia, copper taste of blood in his mouth from biting his lip, or tongue.

Vortex was jabbing his hand into his shoulder wound to wake him up from his peaceful unconciousness, causing Bluestreak to cry out and try to rip himself away from the offending digit. To no avail, Vortex had quite the hold on him. Currently, he was seated on the Decepticons lap, his spike inside him, like it never left. The decepticon had already overloaded, but he was still as hard as ever, just resting inside him. He wasn’t forcing Bluestreak to bounce on him, it took him several moments to realize what exactly the interrogator was doing.

He was touching his spike again, soft, gentle strokes, He held the weakened Bluestreak on his lap with one arm wrapped around him, and the other massaging the younglings spike. “You’ve been better, Blue.” Vortex whispered, kissing the snipers audio, He kissed down it, to his neck, then back up. “Have you ever overloaded before?” He muttered gingerly, in a sort of breathless way that had Bluestreak thinking he was tiring out. Bluestreak didn’t answer, at first. Why would he? The decepticon had already sullied the only personal part of him that he kept from others, Why give away his pleasures as well?

When he didn’t answer, the Decepticon squeezed his spike a little harder, then did something… really weird to it, that caused pleasure to spark through him. Bluestreak keened pathetically, his body scrunching up. How? How could something so evil, feel like this? “Have you?” Vortex demanded, his tone less gentle, Bluestreak shook his helm no. The decepticons arm tightened around him, almost protectively. He breathed against his wounded neck, kissing the wires he broke open. Licking the energon off of it.

“Let me show you what its like, Blue.” Bluestreak never thought his nickname would cause him so much sickness, Vortex speaking his name casually, like he could, in that tone… it upset him.. Only his friends could call him that…

Friends…

What friends?

He didn’t have friends. If he did, he wouldn’t be sitting here, in this state of shock, trying not to let noises of pleasure escape him, as Vortex did skillful, but degrading things to his spike. He began to pick up his strokes, his grip tightening. Blustreaks vents puttered and he let out rugged breaths, something inside of him was building, and he felt helpless to stop it. He wriggled, despite every bone in his body telling him to move away, he could not help but push his hips upward in tune to his strokes. What was this? How was this possible?

Vortex slowly began to loosen his hold on Bluestreak with his arm, he snaked his hand across his wounded chassis, and began circling his headlights, glossia flicking out to lick his audios again, his neck, this little armor plate on his shoulder. Before, it had been weird, and uncomfortable. But now, with this new energy pumping through him from his spike, those touches put him in a state of bliss.

“whh..” His back arched as the Decepticon continued to pamper his spike, pressing his digits into little nooks that send waves of satisfaction through him. He didn’t understand. Prowl said they would hurt him, Why is this decepticon making him feel good?

“Whh..” his vocalizer fuzzed, forcing him to clear his throat. “Why?” Vortex ran his servo down the mechs chassis, then back up to his headlight Bluestreak moaned, the low sexy sound escaping him before he could stop it. Vortex chuckled behind him, pumping his spike faster, while he gently began to thrust his spike up into him. “Because you’re beautiful.” Vortex admitted. “For a dirty autobot slut, You’re beautiful. You deserve this.” Bluestreak couldn't focus on his voice, only on the immense pleasure his hands were creating for him, he writhed unable to censor himself any longer. Vortex could feel his overload approaching, because the walls of his port were flexing against his hard spike, pulsing hard enough that the decepticon could feel his sparkbeat in it.

Bluestreak was going to say something, but the words never left his lips, The decepticon finished him with a swift pump, he thrusted hard up into the autobots port, the action causing Bluestreak to overload with a scream in both pain and pleasure. His body shook, above vortex, the helicopter hugged the youngling tight to his chest, feeling him spasm and jerk, while his transfluid shot out, and landed on his legs.

“Good boy.” Vortex cooed, giving the mech a couple little squeezes of affection.

“Goo...Good boy?” Bluestreak whispered breathlessly, optics flickering again, all of his energy left him as if his transfluid had been his fuel. Vortex gently thumbed the autobots face to look at him, he kissed Bluestreaks lips a few times. “Yes, Good boy.” he patted his helm, then slowly, slowly, lifted Bluestreak up off his spike. The youngling was exhausted, and could hardly hold up his own arms anymore, he was limp in the decepticons digits. At Vortex’s words, Bluestreaks optics fuzzed, then once more went offline, leaving him with the echoes of his overload sizzling through his systems.

-

He came too, his processor slowly booting up, After he’d passed out, He woke up three other times to the same treatment he endured before. The hours blurred together, He couldn't remember more then half of his experience, even so, it left him broken, in more ways then one. He was half expecting to wake up, sitting on Vortex’s lap with the mech’s arms wrapped around him and his spike buried deep in his valve, like he had after the first time he’d gone unconscious. So he laid there, body still, daring not to move, because he knew in doing so would cause more pain then it was worth.

The seconds ticked by, One… Two… three… Not a sound, not a movement. What was Vortex playing at? Where were his hands? Where was his spike? Where was _he?_ He lifted his face up from the dirt, looking up at the darkened sky, the sun had retreated into the horizon two overloads ago. Now it was the stars turn to watch him in his pain, this pain he deserved. He couldn't feel his legs, he couldn’t feel his wings, but he could feel the cold nights wind that assaulted his frame.

_Where was he?_

He forced his body to action, first, wiggling his fingers, spreading them in the dirt, then, he began moving his legs, until he was able to push himself up in a sitting position. He looked around, Processor having a very hard time keeping up with his optic’s movements. He was met with an empty Junk Yard, quiet, desolate, nothing but the chirping of bugs in a small pond nearby.

_Was he… Gone? Why am I alive?_

Why _would_ Vortex leave him alive? The thoughts assaulted his mind, just as the cold did. He forced himself to stand, legs barely able to hold himself up. He was dirty, wounded, covered in energon and transfluid. He needed medical attention, but he really… _really_ didn’t feel like explaining this… he didn’t want to talk about it he… Didn’t want to talk at all.

He made his way to the gate, staggering and losing balance along the way. This time, he didn’t care about not knocking over the gate, but he tried his best to avoid doing so anyway. Once on the other side, he spared one last glance at his … once favorite place.

Just like that?

He was free?

He painfully bent down into his earth altmode. Being in it, didn’t exactly disguise his damage. Purple transfluid mixed with blue energon, nearly hardened against him. As he drove, slow and steady, one sentence picked at his processor. Repeating to the point of annoyance, but no matter how many times he tried to block it out, it continued to faded back in.

_Why am i alive?_

_Why am i alive?_

_Why did vortex leave me alive?_

_Why am I alive_

_Why am I alive?_

The time flashed one in the morning for him, he couldn’t believe he’d literally been interfaced with for an entire day. As it was happening, it felt like vorns, it felt like hell, an eternity of punishment and torture. The road stretched ahead of him, endlessly pointing in a straight line towards the autobot base that he would encounter a few miles away.

_Why am I alive?_

_WHY AM I ALIVE?_

Bluestreak doubted he would ever receive an answer. The images, the feelings, Vortex’s servos were still on him, he could feel them, and he wondered… If leaving him alive was the greatest torture of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC..
> 
> Yes, i skipped some of the scene here, but only for it to be revealed in later chapters as he rememebers. Thanks for reading, How am i doing? is there anything anyone would like to see?


	4. Just showed up...

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Just showed up...

  


‘ _Somebody shine a light,_

_I’m frozen by the fear in me,_

_Somebody make me feel alive~_

_~And shatter me._

_So cut me from the line,_

_Dizzy, Spinning endlessly,_

_Somebody make me feel alive~_

_~And shatter me!’_

_-_ _ **Lindsey Stirling.** _

Driving back to base was tiring, he had to go slowly, as to not over work himself into blacking out again. He’d lost a lot of energon, He didn’t know how much energon a mech could lose before bleeding to death, but he assumed he was close. He was still In shock, Still weak, how he managed to get back to base without getting lost in the confusion that his processor was in, was a mystery to the sniper.

He pulled up to the large gates that protected the autobots base. Two towers on each side, Humans standing watch. Even though it was later at night, they kept the same amount of humans on guard. Decepticons could strike at any time… at any place… for...any reason….

The wind struck him, chilly breeze slipping inside his wounds. All he needed to do was get past these humans, and get to the wash racks. Where he could wash away the sins he endured, and move on from this. He slowed down, then stopped all together, large white lights lit up the otherwise dark strip of road.

“Bluestreak?” One of the humans commented, Already Bluestreak could see the concern on his face. He wasn’t ready for pity. He just wanted to get clean. “Yes, I’m here, its me. Can I please go in?” The human looked to his counterpart, then started the process of rising the gate, by pressing some buttons and gesturing to his fellow soldiers at the other tower. Opening the gate was a two person job, it couldn't be done at one tower, for safety, and security reasons.

“How was the junk yard? You were gone for quite a bit, Ironhide was looking for you.” Oh, right, this human… what was his name? Jacob? Tan, half black half white man, real cute, gay, and that part was clear in his voice. He’d been the guard to let him leave the base the morning before. They had a brief conversation about where he was going, and what he was going to do.

Yes, _blue,_ how _was_ the junk yard?

“It was good.” Bluestreak replied, impatiently waiting for the gate to finish its slow ascend. The silence after that could kill. Most everyone who knew him, and preferred talking to him, paused like this after he spoke. Usually, well, not usually, just about damn near _every single time_ he finished a starting sentence, he had more to add, Jacob looked at him expectantly. Bluestreak just puttered there, Quietly, wondering if he should add something just to make things seam more normal.

“I dug around, but there wasn’t anything interesting this week.” More silence. The gate finished opening. He pulled foreword. “Have a good night, Okay Jacob?” He didn’t wait for a reply, the sniper hastily pulled into the base. Staying in his Nissan altmode as he drove through the wide halls. One in the morning, and people were still out and about. He passed the recreational room, hearing the music through the walls, feeling the vibrations of the beat in his tires as he cruised past it.

Upon arriving at the wash rack, Bluestreak stilled at the door for several seconds, listening for movement, making sure not a spark was nearby. He transformed, the action causing a wave of dizziness that he almost could not fight off, He pressed a dirty servo to the wall, vents cycling loudly, he stared down at his pedes, watching them wave and spin in and out of his focal point. He began to feel queasy, tanks gurgling at him irritatingly. He pushed open the door and made straight for the first stall, closest to him.

Basically diving inside, he eagerly flicked on the hot water, it washed over his frame, prickling his wounds with its scorching heat. The bullet shot to his shoulder, that pain could hardly compare to the agony his port was in right now.. and he didn’t know where to begin cleaning it. Instead, he washed his frame, making sure to get every bit of transfluid off his frame before he’d go to Ratchet to get his shoulder wound adressed.

‘ _How’d you get these wounds?!’ Ratchet would say…_

‘ _Fell off a junk pile….’ No, That wouldnt work. Think._

He gently scrubbed the cloth over his interface array, optics starting to burn, his throat tightened up, venting became increasingly difficult.

‘ _I accidentally shot myself’_

‘ _I purposely shot myself.’_

He balanced himself with a servo to the washracks tile lining, watching the water merge with the dirt and engergon, dripping off his metals like a filthy waterfall. The longer he tried to pry up an excuse, the more disastrously his spark dropped. Crying was just as foreign to to Bluestreak as dancing was to Prowl. He’d never felt crummy enough to shed a tear, Sniveling in pain was one thing… Crying from the spark was another. He let out a choked sob, trying to be quiet, hoping the sound of rushing water would conceal his broken sounds.

‘ _I got in a crash with a human’_

‘ _I dont know… just showed up...’_

Coolant tears streamed from his optics, mixing with the water, dripping off is cheeks, He no longer cared for quieting his sobs, or stopping the pathetic sounds he was making, from exiting him. He sunk to the wash racks floor, staring at his pedes, washing the filthy liquid flow around his pedes. He didn’t know a feeling could be so horrible, and no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t leave him. How was he going to talk about something like this? With anyone?

He let himself cry for a few minutes, staring blankly at the floor until he gathered the strength to stand himself up. He turned off the water and looked himself over, stepping out to dry himself off, gently gliding the damp towel over his shoulder wound, which began bleeding again at the irritation. The slice to his tanks was less agonizing, and had stopped its bleeding already. There was only one thing left to do.

It was time to go to Ratchet.

Each step he took, closing the distance to the medical bay, was like a step in the wrong direction, his processor begging him to turn around, but his body proving that he needed medical attention. He couldn't hide a clear shot through blaster wound. He just hoped that the medic was awake, He really didn’t feel like waking the older mech up from recharge. Bluestreak didn’t want an extra dent in his helm.

He arrived, the medical bay’s doors slid open at his arrival. Of course, Wheeljack would fix Ratchets delay, rather then the rec rooms. Wheeljacks affections weren't to go unnoticed. The medical bay was dark, aside from a single light lighting up the center of the room, on one side, laid several berths, the other side, drawers, tables, and tools rested. There were two doors at the back of the whiteish silver room, One, was a personal cleaning room, the other, was Ratchets sleeping quarters. The medic wasn’t in sight, so… he must’ve been recharging.

Part of him wanted to turn around and leave, save it for another time.. but he had to at least put a pint of effort in. His optics were dull, and his body weak and fatigued. He doubted he’d make it to his room before blacking out. He was certainly surprised he was able to get from the wash wracks to the med bay.

He peered in through the window, a night light shined off to the side, barely illuminating Ratchets blanket covered frame. He reached up and knocked. Ratchet shifted, but remained laying down. He knocked again, this time louder. He saw the blue of the medics optics crack through the darkness as he looked at the door to see who was there, seeing the top half of Bluestreaks helm staring in at him, the medic groaned and began the age old process of mulling himself out of bed.

Bluestreak took several steps away from the door, The doors hissed apart, and Ratchet stared at him, with half functioning optics. “’s two in the morning Bluestreak...” His optics adjusted, and landed on Bluestreaks leaking wound. His ridges furrowed, and he began foreword quickly. Ratchet was the first mech Bluestreak had encountered since what happened, And the young mech himself wasn’t expecting the massive flinch his body ended up doing at the medics rapid movement.

Ratchet stopped, frowning. “Its alright.” He coaxed, hands out. Bluestreak looked down, shame running through him, shoulders risen with anxiety that he’d never felt before. Ratchet approached, slower this time, his eyes moved from his tanks, to his shoulder, seaming to inspect every inch of his damaged and dented frame along the way.

He put a hand on the younglings shoulder and guided him to one of the medical berths. Bluestreak climbed up on one. Ratchet didn’t say anything at first, didn’t ask any questions, Just began working to shut the blaster injury in silence. The longer the muteness rang out, the deeper Ratchets concern became, until he was compelled to speak up.

“Were you attacked?” Something flashed in the younglings darkened eyes at Ratchets quarry. He nodded stiffly, wincing when the medics wielding tool struck a particularly sensitive spot on his wound. “By who?” Ratchet continued, urging him to speak, though Bluestreak seamed determined to not to. “I Don’t Know.” he pronounced, with full attitude, bitterness to his voice the medic never expected to hear from him.

“Bluestreak, You know who the Decepticons are. Don’t give me that bullslag.” The medic grunted out. He grabbed the younglings wrist to hold his arm still as he worked. Why did he _have_ to talk about it? Why couldn’t he just leave it at that? He may have been forced to do something he didn’t want to do that day, but he was done submitting. He was sticking to his answer.

“I. Don’t. Know.” He muttered, glaring at the wall next to him, faceplates heated. Ratchet finished his work, then began looking over the slice at his stomach, sensing the youngling didn’t want to talk, he closed his lipplates and let it go, but Bluestreak knew it would come up again. When, he was unsure, but at this moment, the sniper felt defensive and vulnerable, he felt shame and guild, disgusted and tainted, everything negative bundled into one…

The rest of their shared time was spent in a vocal stillness that had tenseness thick enough to be felt by the both of them. Bluestreak noticed the way he looked at certain marks, the way his digit lingered on his neck cable, where Vortex had bitten him. If it couldn’t make matters worse, The medic got up and returned a short time later with a wet cloth and some cleaning spray, he sprayed it on his leg, and started scrubbing at a spot of transfluid he missed. Bluestreak tensed, intense optics watching ratchets placid face as he picked at the dried transfluid until it washed off. He sat up, and did the same thing to a spot he missed on his side, then on his back. All in an silence. So much silence.

He gestured for the mech to stand, Bluestreak did so with a little hesitation, Ratchet looked over his back, brushed different spots, gently, almost in a massaging type way. Bluestreak began to relax against his slow, circling motions. When it was over, Ratchet came back around and stared Bluestreak straight in the optics, with a look that said it all.

“You can leave now.” He finally said, relief washed over the youngling. He was in the clear, He wouldn't have to speak about it~

“~But I expect you back in the morning.” He gave the youngling a careful, set look. There was no getting out of it. “And you will talk to me then.” He paused, Bluestreak didn’t move off the berth. There was no point leaving if he was just to return when he woke, save himself the trip, he’d just recharge here…

“And Blue?” The youngling flinched. _Blue._ He said nothing. Ratchet continued. “Patient confidentiality. Don’t be afraid to speak to me.” Bluestreak laid on his side, back facing the medic, he curled up, kneeplates basically to his chest. Great, it was that easy. Seeing his contaminated frame was as easy as looking at him, was it written on his face? Displayed like a neon sign above his helm? He felt a sudden warmth, when Ratchet draped a medical blanket over his frame. A spark of hatred lit up inside of him. There it was… pity. His nasal ridge scrunched, and his fists clenched beneath the blanket. “Goodnight Ratchet.” He replied, Exhausted, the mech shut his processor down and fell into recharge quicker then he ever had before.

_-_

‘ _If I break the glass, then ill have to fly,_

_There’s no one to catch me if I take a dive._

_I’m scared of changing, the days stay the same..._

_The world is spinning but only in gray._

_If I break the glass, then ill have to fly,_

 

_There’s no one to catch me if I take a dive._

_I’m scared of changing, the days stay the same..._

_The world is spinning but only in gray._

_Somebody shine a light…_

_I’m frozen by the fear in me…_

_Somebody make me feel alive~_

_~And shatter me…_

_So cut me from the light…_

_Dizzy spinning endlessly…._

_Somebody make me feel alive~_

_~AND SHATTER ME!_

_SHATTER ME!_

_-Lindsey Stirling._


	5. Blue

_'I just want to be alone_

_When i get weak or im tired and afraid_

_When i sleep all my dreams turn out the same_

_When i bleed, I relieve you of your pain_

_i can't believe you wont let me do the same._

**_-Weak, Seether_ **

 

 

He woke up to a stiffness that made him seriously uncomfortable. Bluestreak groaned his complaint, turning himself over with his optics still offline. He wanted to recharge more, every time he stilled, he drifted off, but he knew it was around that time, the time he woke up every earth morning. He sat up, optics adjusting to the brighter light of the medical bay, there were no windows here, The sun could not be seen, just the white hue of the newly installed lightbulbs, which stung his optics as he onlined them.

For a moment, he wondered why he slept in the medical bay, groggy processor booting itself up, he moved to sling his legs over the berth, and let out a ripe yelp of pain when the action sent waves of agony roaring through his … area.

He sat still for a few moments, memories of the day before coming to him, though now he was more relaxed, he wasn't... As he was before. He sat there, staring at the floor, he tried to figure out how he'd put himself back together now. He wondered if after a few days, he'd go back to normal, if there was a way to erase these memories from his processor's cache.  
  
He'd have to fake it until faking it became easy and real. So he forced himself to smile. It was just interfacing. That's all it was. Mechs did it all the time on the base, humans did it. He didn't have to be a child about it~ he didn't hear other complaining. Everyone did it... _Everyone_ did it.  
  
Just an interface. A painful one, but an interface, an interface he was going to try to keep to himself. What would the autobots think of him, if they found out he'd done it with a decepticon? Would they throw him out? Stick him in the brig? Shun him? For being a traitor...  
  
That feeling welled up inside of him again. He vented hard as his breaths caught. Fraggit! Why was it so hard to stop himself from leaking? What was so bad about it? Everyone did it! He didn't have to be a child about it!  
  
He didn't realize he was sobbing until he heard a voice behind him, state calmly. "Are you alright Bluestreak?" The mech In question jerked, nearly bashing his wings into the wall. He was quick to get up into his pedes, though the action nearly had his legs collapsing.  
  
"Y-yes!" Bluestreak answered, hastily scrubbing the coolant from his optics, though Ratchet had already seen them. "I'm just a little upset, but I'm okay! I promise!" He finished, voice breaking at the end, said in such a way that it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself, and not Ratchet.  
  
"Bluestreak~" the medic began in that tone, Hint, began. Bluestreak spun on his heel and faced the white mecha, wings lifted high on alert. "I'm just a little upset okay? My frame hurts, and I don't feel good. We don't have to talk about it okay? We really don't have to...!" He took a couple steps back, retreating slowly to the medical bays exit.

"I just need a little more r-rest and some fuel. It's no big deal. You guys get attacked by cons all the time... I just had a hard time defending myself. It would've been easier if 'Hide had taught me some frontline tricks but I still managed to fight him off..." Is that what he was now? A lair? The words rolled off his lips before he could stop them. His wings twitched hard behind him, unnecessary fear surging through his spark. Ratchet advanced, frowning just slightly. He stopped though when his moving a caused the young gunner to stumble himself further away, one hand outstretched. His optics a wild.  
  
"Bluestreak, it's alright~"  
  
"Yes! Yes it's okay, okay? Just stay there, please just stay there." He couldn't mask the trembling in his voice, nor could he explain the terror that he was feeling then. He trusted Ratchet with his life, he knew in his spark that the medic would never attack him, but his processor was screaming differently. _Screaming._  
  
"Please Ratchet." The youngling begged. How could he face the others like this? What was wrong with him? Where was the normal loving Bluestreak who always wanted to be around others? Why was he hiding? He didn't like the drastic mech he had suddenly become.  
  
"I'm not moving, but you need to sit down." Ratchet urged, voice soft, but void of pity, Bluestreak didn't know if the medic was doing it on purpose or not, but he didn't like this attention. "I'm fine standing. It was just my shoulder plate. I can walk fine. I don't need to sit..." He managed. Ratchet literally rolled his optics at the mech.  
  
"I told you that we were going to talk about this. I'm your doctor and I need to know about these things. For your health." He paused, letting that sink in a bit. "I don't need details, but I can tell that you are not alright. Just let me help you. So please, Bluestreak. Sit down. And let's talk" He gestured to the berth, the snipers wings lowered slowly, he really didn't want to. He really really didn't want to. He just wanted to forget, lay in his room, and recharge it off.  
  
However, Ratchet was a mech, a determined mech. If he didn't get it out of him now, he would eventually. He began back towards the appointed berth, his brain thinking over what he could say. The largeness of the room made him feel unsafe, but he sat, and Ratchet pulled up his rolling chair before Bluestreak as he did so. Ratchet was no therapist, that was Rungs department, but being a doctor brought around that kind of thing anyway.  
  
Bluestreak stared at his hands, studying them with deadly intent. The medic watched him do so, optics softening. "Let's start from the beginning…" he coaxed, in a voice Bluestreak rarely heard from the gruff mech.  
  
"I went to the Junkyard." Bluestreak admitted, cautiously. Just that one sentence bringing dread upon him. "To collect stuff, the humans had dropped some stuff off so I thought since no one else wanted to do anything, I'd go and take a look and there were a lot of new things..." Ratchet followed with interested features as the youngling went on to describe the items he'd seen there. After he finished, he took a long vent, and could no longer look Ratchet in the lenses.  
  
"And Vortex..." He choked on the name, having thought it a bunch of times but nothing could prepare him for how it felt finally speaking it allowed. "That's who attacked you? Vortex?" Ratchet replied  
  
"Yeah, Vortex was there he came there... Looking for scrap metal for Megatron or something like that. An he was really angry, shooting things and I tried to hide! Until he got what he wanted and left... But he shot where I was hiding... And it hit me..." He gestured to his shoulder.  
  
"I t-tried to run but he was really fast and he caught up with me and we fought." His optics began to leak again, his voice becoming more panicked, as the memories flushed through him, assaulting his spark. He could still feel the ghost of Vortex, slamming into him until he bled...  
  
"Bluestreak?" Ratchet said, Bluestreak looked up at him, optics adjusting.  
  
"We fought." He continued. "We fought." He repeated, hoping that was all the medic needed. But he looked at him with expecting optics. So he decided... He would just throw it out there.  
  
"We fought then we interfaced." He waited for a look of disgust, for Ratchet to yell, to brand him a traitor, to tell everyone about the mistake he made. However, Ratchet was silent as he waited, as if he already knew.  
  
"A-and when it was over, he left me there." Blue finished, optics dulling. "He just left me there. Why didnt he kill me Ratchet?" he asked. "Bluestreak." The medic began, optics impossibly soft, ridges bent, Bluestreak swore he saw a hint of anger forming on his faceplates. "When you interfaced, was it something you wanted?" He questioned cautiously.  
  
His cooling fans kicked on, engine sputtering. "N _-no_! He was just really strong and, and I couldn't do anything! You have to believe me Ratchet it wasn't my choice!" He was shouting now, light trembles wracking his frame. "Please Ratchet! I tried to s-stop him, I tried to! But he was g-grabbing me and holding me down and he was touching me and I couldn't push him off!" The last few words came out angrily, his optics brightening with frustration, though tears were falling steadily down his face.  
  
"It's okay, If you didn't~"  
  
"It's not okay!" Bluestreak screamed out in dismay. "It's not okay! I'm a traitor! I interfaced with a decepticon! I was weak! P-please don't put me in the brig, please... I won't do it again, it won't happen again, I promise." He paused only for a second to suck in a shaky vent. Dread washed over him in disastrous waves that crashed against the inside of his spark chamber, He couldn’t get enough intake in, body quivering. Suddenly he felt vortex’s large hands around his throat, squeezing his delicate vocalizer, He struggled to vent. The medical room blurred at the edges of his vision, swimming in and out of focus, his spark began thrumming in his chamber. What was happening?

“Bluestreak, You need to calm down.” Ratchet said, apprehension in his tone. “You’re having a panic attack, You need to vent.”Ratchet reached out and grabbed the younglings trembling digits, looking into his indistant lenses, that shined whiter then the rooms lights. Bluestreak gasped, engine whining. “I c-cant...”

“Yes you can. Just relax...” Ratchet started rubbing his shoulder lightly, digging hid digits ito the tense seams and wiring that lined his metals. “Im not going to put you in the brig. Bluestreak- Bluestreak look at me.” Ratchet fingered the mechs chin to tilt up at him, he continued staring the freaking out youngling. “This is not your fault.” The medic whispered, voice low. “What he did to you, it wasn’t interfacing. Its called ra-”

The medical bay’s automatic doors whirred open, Butchering Ratchets words. Bluestreak stilled, as Ironhide walked in, Mouth open, showing he was about to say something, but he stopped, dead in his tracks, when he saw them. Ratchet knelt before the shivering youngling, holding his face clasped right in his hands while Bluestreaks frame shook, crying and distraught. It shocked Ironhide into complete silence.

Ratchet was quick to stand up, and walk in front of Bluestreak, blocking him from the others’ view, if only to calm the sniper down. “Ironhide- Im sorry but im a bit busy right now~” Ratchet started, but Irohide, ridges bent, uncertinty shining on his tensed frame. “Blue? Wha’s wrong with Blue?” He questioned urgently.

_Blue._

“Ironhide, Hes alright.” The medic assured, coming to the front of the heavy gunner, he sat a sturdy hand on Ironhides shoulder, and gently tugged him towards the door. “Ill have to ask you to come back later...” Bluestreak stared down at the floor, vents hitching, optics zoned out. One of his tears fell off his chin and splashed against his leg plate…

_Blue._

Ironhides frame stiffened, His pedes glued to the floor, determination written on his face. He’d never seen the youngling look so devastated. They had a strong connection, At least in the weapon specialists optics. Seeing that hopeless face. It hit him hard in the spark. He needed to know. “Ratch’” His voice lowered. “Wha’ happened?” He demanded, the medic glared heatedly at him. “Do I have to hit you?” Ratchet replied. “This is personal, and you have no right to know. Please leave.” This time, there was no politeness in his voice. “But, Blue..”

“No buts, Ironhide. Leave. Now.” The automatic door hissed open again, and stayed open as the red mecha stood just before it, having been backed into it by the medic. Ironhides optics flared.

_Blue…_

‘ _Thats right, Little Blue, Don’t fight it.’ Purge rose in his throat when Vortex’s thumb ghosted over the tip of his spike, wiping off the pre-transfluid that pooled there, the feeling of someones finger so close to his slit, it sent shivers down his spinal strut, an unknown feeling of pleasure rising deep inside of him._

“Fine.” The big red mech said, finally. He turned and walked out, not before sparing the young Bluestreak a look. The Sniper wasn’t paying any attention to it, optics gone white, he was stuck in a memory loop, hopeless to it. Ratchet turned, and returned to his seat, watching the frightened youngling just stare at the floor, his face plain, almost void of emotions.

Ratchet sighed. “Lay down Blue.” Ratchet said, he slowly coaxed the youngling to laying down. Bluestreak did so without hesitation. A blanket was once more tossed over his frame. “Calm down for a bit, alright? I’m going to get you some energon. Ill be right back.” He closed the mechs curtain, giving him privacy. Bluestreak heard the medical bays doors open and close, then, there was silence.

The longer he laid there, surrounded by the mute med bay, the harder he began to hate the silence. His thoughts nagged at him, wouldnt leave him alone. He vented, calming himself down, as Ratchet had asked of him.

_Great_

The youngling mused, blanky staring at the dark gray curtain.

_First Ratchet, now Ironhide._

He found himself thinking again… Was this Vortex’s plan all along? Keeping him alive so he could haunt the younglings processor? Sully his reputation? Ruined everything. Vortex ruined him, too. A memory faded in as he laid there, one, he mustv forgotten during the hours of the night where he couldn’t focus enough to pay attention.

‘ _When I’m done with you, Blue. The autobots, Your friends. They wont want you.’ Vortex’s hard slid over his faceplates, bluestreaks optics were barely online, his vents were shallow, slow, hardly there.’Then you’ll come to me, because ill be the only one to care about you then...’_

 

_'please give me a reason_

_so i can shut you out,_

_Through your heart is bleeding_

_You left me with no doubt_

_Give me segregation,_

_give me back my health_

_take your observations_

_and turn them on yourself..._

_I just want to be alone_

_when i get weak or im tired and afraid_

_When i sleep all my dreams turn out the same_

_When i bleed i relieve you of your pain_

_i cant believe you wont let me go,_

_let me live my life alone_

_let me live my life alone_

_let me live my life alone_

 

**_-Weak, Seether_ **


	6. Horses

**CHAPTER 6**

Horses

_‘Good for you, You fooled everybody,_

_Good for you, You fooled everyone,_

_Good for you, Now you’re somebody,_

_Good for you, You fooled everyone…_

  


_Leave your weapon, on the table,_

_Wrapped in burlap, barely able,_

_Don’t get angry, don’t discourage,_

_Take a shot of it with courage…_

  


_Cuz my monsters are real, and they’re trained how to kill,_

_And theres no comin’ back and they just laugh at how I feel_

_And these monsters can fight, And they’ll never say die,_

_And theres no goin’ back, if I get trapped ill never heal,_

_Yeah, My monsters are real…’_

**_ -Monsters, Shinedown. _ **

  


**RATCHET P.O.V.**

He could have gotten a cube of energon in the medical bay, but Ratchet knew Ironhide wasn’t going to leave it alone. As expected, when the medic exited the room, Ironhide was there, sitting on one of the visitor benches, arms crossed, legs outstretched, frowning deeply. Ratchet sighed upon seeing him. They made brief optic contact, Ironhide got up and joined the other as he headed for the Recreational room, without a single word spoken.

It was silent for several tense moments, Each one waiting for the other to say something first. As they rounded the first corner, the rec. room’s doors nearly in sight, Ironhide cleared his throat. “So, wha?” He asked, waiting for something more, Ratchet turned to look at his frowning faceplates, he grumbled something to himself. “What, Ironhide?”

“Wha’s goin’ on Ratch?” The red autobot continued. The mech in question made a small, husky noise. “Bluestreak was attacked yesterday. By a con.” Ratchet informed him, leaving just about everything else out, being as picky as he could. It really was not the gunners business.If Bluestreak wanted to tell him, he would, it was not Ratchets place to do so for him, unless he asked.

Ironhides steps slowed. “An’ thats why ‘e was cryin’?” He clarified, voice lowered, deep like subdued thunder. Ratchet sat in front of the door, waiting for it to sense the medic and open for him. “That’s why he was crying.” Ratchet returned with a firm nod, the door rose and the two of them entered. There weren’t many bots in the rec room today, Swerve had his pedes kicked up on his bar, reading a human magazine with a half naked woman on the front, posing suggestively. He peeked over the small flimsy paper at their entrance, then waved.

Ratchet waved back, moving to the energon dispenser set up on the far wall. “Its my fault.” the weapon specialist muttered, getting his own cube as Ratchet filled one for Bluestreak. Before the medic could ask why, Ironhide had already answered. “i coulda trained him, he wanted me to. But I shut’em down ‘cuz I was watchin’ a show. Primus.” He let out an uneven vent, self blame causing his frame to go rigid, prickling. “So selfish a me, Poor kid...” Ratchet sat down the now full cube, he turned and placed a calm hand on his friends squared shoulderplate. Ironide looked into his deep ocean blue optics, seeing the friendly nature in his gaze, it comforted the cherry red and gray mech.

“Its not your fault, its not Bluestreaks fault. Its Vortex’s.” He paused, Wondering if he should have kept the name to himself, rather then alert the other. It was too late, he could tell Ironhide was making a mental note, just by the distant look on his old, dark gray face. Thinking something over in his helm, Ratchet then decided to apply it. “Here.” he handed the heavy gunner Bluestreaks cube.

“I have to go talk to Wheeljack, Why don’t you bring this to him?” Ironhide took the offered cube, optic ridges risen. “I can do that.” He retorted, swishing the liquid around. Ratchet nodded his confirmation, and appreciation. He patted the autobots shoulder, but before he made to leave, he said. “Oh, and Ironhide?” Ironhide addressed him, helm tilted to the side just a hair whislt he waited for his old friend to say what was on his mind.

“Be gentle, Please.” With that, he made his way out of the rec. room, and took a left, towards Wheeljacks lab. “Sure, Ratch.” Ironhide answered, after he was gone from the heavy gunners sight.

  


**Bluestreak p.o.v**  
  
Bluestreak listened to his vents, the constant noise soothing him as he laid in the silent room. Time stood still for him, as he tried to bring himself up, by talking good about himself in his processor. Something he did every time he'd injured or killed a decepticon with his sniper. He was not a bad 'bot. He really wasn't. In reality, no Cybertronian was bad, they just did what they thought was right, or followed orders. Everyone was different, but Vortex... Vortex was evil, And everyone else who did things like him… they were evil too.  
  
The medical bay's doors lifted with a click, Knowing someone was walking in, had the young mech curling deeper into his thick offered blankets, finding comfort in their navy blue, padded style. He was facing away from the entrance, so he had no real clue who had entered, though he assumed it was Ratchet. There was a small clink of a glass cube being sat on the table next to him. Bluestreak gathered the courage to look over. He was expecting gray and white, but was met with Ironhides bulky frame. Bluestreak squinted in question up at him.  
  
"Ratchet needed to do sommem, so he asked me to give this to ya." Ironhide told him, upon seeing the confused look in the sulking autobots optics. "Oh." Bluestreak answered. He sat up, carefully tugging the blanket around his waist. He reached out and grabbed the cube, taking a slow hesitant sip. Only when the fuel hit his empty tanks, did he realize just how hungry he was. He may need to get another cube soon, He hadn’t fueled since the day before… it was a wonder why he didn't feel it until then.  
  
Ironhide stood there awkwardly. He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. It was the first time since he'd met the youngling that he had to start the conversation. It felt foreign to him, usually Bluestreak just... Talked, even with a mouth full of Energon. His optics hesitantly looked over the kids frame, seeing the marks and scratches of battle, he noted, again, to himself that Bluestreak really didnt have a lot of… deep wounds, as he expected from being bested by Vortex.  
  
"I wanted ta say sorry for, ‘em, not trainin' ya when ya asked." He began with caution, glancing around the room searching for something he could sit on. He wondered awkwardly over to Ratchet abandoned rolling chair, he wheeled it over, and sat to the side of the snipers berth.  
  
The look Bluestreak gave him when he sat down, could've frozen a mech solid. Ironhide felt a twinge of regret, it was almost a glare of hatred, as if the sniper didn’t want him there. The young mech quickly finished the cubes contents and sat it back on the table where it had first been. If he didn’t want the other to stay, he said nothing about it. "It's okay 'hide. You were busy, it happens." He stared down at his hands, picking some flaking paint off underside of his palm. "If ya want. I can train you." He said, then added quickly. "When you've recovered, that is." Bluestreaks spark beat picked up a little, he was able to turn and look him in the eye, with a small wary smile.  
  
"Id like that." He felt a little excitement rising in him, though it may have already been too late to learn, now that the damage was already said and done. His door wings lifted behind him, Ironhide eye'd them a moment as they came to his attention, noticing thin lighter colored streaks of gray scratched throughout it's length. Streaks that looked an awful lot like claw marks.  
  
A puzzled look formed on his faceplates, Bluestreak noticed all to quickly, and was swift to plaster his wings to his back, moving them out of his sight. In his nervousness, the snipers voice rose. "'Cuz I could really use some practice." He told him, voice maybe a little too loud, he lowered it, sick of the raspy sound that replaced his usual smooth voice.  
  
"Like I said before I'm not... Good with being close. I could've died out there. It was really pathetic 'hide. he was... Playing with me." The way he said the last part, shame running deep through it, had Ironhides normally hard spark, rearing to comfort the mech.  
  
He reached out before he could really stop himself, and placed one of his large hands over Bluestreaks fidgeting servos. The young mecha flinched, but forced himself to keep his hands there. "But ya didn't." He replied calmly. "Ya fought good'e'nough to get away, I'm proud a'ya." If only that were true...  
  
Bluestreak turn his servo so his palm was now in Ironhides, the bigger hand nearly overcame his own. Ironhide didn't advance past that, and the young sniper was grateful for it. A feeling of... Happiness prickled at the edges of his spark chamber, when he let Ironhide curl his large digits around his small hand. The feeling only lasted a few moments, until those fresh memories entered his mind again.   
  
"Thanks, hide." Bluestreak whispered, staring at Ironhides dark mech flesh'd hand, curled around his own. He tried to think of something else to say, but his processor was blank. As it turned out, he didn't new to pick up his own left off words, Ironhide had for him.  
  
"So, there's a new movie commin' out tanight. I forget wha' it's called, but it's about horses, so I was wonderin' if maybe ya wanted to watched it with me? I was gonna ask earlier... But I couldn't find ya..." He trailed off, at the word horse, Bluestreaks wings fluffed up, and his engine legit purred. He loved horses. He really did.  
  
"Of course!" The sniper cried out, smile breaking across his face. "Come and get me before it starts? I want to get a little more rest, first." The little one said, Ironhide patted his servo, then pulled it from the snipers grip... Gently. Ironhide stood up, then gave the youngling a little fist nudge against his good shoulder. The movement was awkward, and made Bluestreak tense up, but he appreciated the attempted comfort.  
  
"I'll come get ya in a bit. " he promised, before turning and walking out. Nobot would ever see Ironhide as soft as he was then, as soon as the doors closed behind him, his frame stiffened, and he was back to his usual hard aft self. One thing was clear, though, one thought running through his mind.  
  
He was going to _kill_ Vortex. _Multiple_ times.  
  
_‘Good for you, You hurt everybody,_

_Good for you, you hurt everyone…_

_Good for you, you love nobody,_

_Good for you, You owe no one…_  
  


_Leave your weapon, on the table_

_Wrapped in burlap, barely able,_

_Call a doctor, say a prayer,_

_choose a god you think is fair…_

  


_Cuz my monsters are real, and they’re trained how to kill,_

_And theres no comin’ back and they just laugh at how I feel_

_And these monsters can fight, And they’ll never say die,_

_And theres no goin’ back, if I get trapped ill never heal,_

_Yeah, My monsters are real…’_

**_-Monsters, Shinedown._ **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7  
**  


**No luck in war**

  


_She just wants to be beautiful_   
_She goes unnoticed, she knows no limits_   
_She craves attention, she praises an image_   
_She prays to be sculpted by the sculptor_   
_Oh, she don't see the light that's shining_   
_Deeper than the eyes can find it_   
_Maybe we have made her blind_   
_So she tries to cover up her pain and cut her woes away_   
_'Cause cover girls don't cry after their face is made_

_But_

_there's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark_   
_You should know you're beautiful just the way you are_   
_And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart_   
_No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful_   
_Oh-oh, oh-oh_

  
**-Scars to your beautiful, Alessia Cara**  


After Ironhide left, Bluestreak slid off the medical berth. He had to admit, having a goal, or something to look foreword too was just what he needed. Ratchet still hadn’t returned from his unknown expedition to primus knew where, so the young mech cautiously made his way to Ratchets private wash wracks… well, medical bay private. Since he was currently a patient, he saw no problem using them, though the sniper knew Ratchet had problems with it before, certain ‘bots sneaking in and using it while he wasn’t around, just so they didn’t have to use the public one. Bluestreak could probably guess who he was empathizing.

He walked in, the room was small but comfortable, a small sink on the side, a mirror above it, white tile floors and a darker gray tile walls, There was a cabinet above a matching counter, out of curiousness, the youngling popped it open and peeked inside, as expected, it was filled with medical tools, medicines, denta scrubbers, polishers, and just about any personal hygiene one could think of. The actual shower was set up in the far right corner, decent sized, warped glass door, the place was much cleaner then the public wash room, Ratchet probably went to cleaning it every day.

He opened the glass door and turned on the water, while he let it heat up, the sniper knelt down to open the bottom drawers attached to the counter, squatting sent echoes of dull pain through his thighs, a stronger pain in his port, he cringed, then decided sitting was better, and it was, took the pressure off his torn interface array.

He felt like a scoundrel, digging through Ratchets armor shampoo supply, He had some left in his room: Blueberry scented, the humans really enjoyed creating things for them, shampoo was one of the many things they supplied, Bluestreak was grateful, most of cybertronian shampoo was lost to the ages, Back on cybertron either raided or buried under debris, if scavengers hadn’t collected whatever was usable.

He settled on using one of the more fuller ones, covered in slight dust, one Ratchet probably didnt use much, as to not anger the medic for using his personal supply. It said it was Rose blossom scented, no wonder Ratchet didn’t use it. Anyone caught him smelling like a rose, it would be the end of the medics reputation for sure.

But Bluestreak didn’t much mind the smell. He got in the shower and let the hot water run down his frame, longing to just relax his tense frame. Standing proved to be a bad idea, the longer he stood the more exhausted his legs became, weaker, and he began to worry. He couldn’t keep putting it off, Bluestreak sat down on the wet shower’s floor, the boiling waterhitting his legs, even now, the water that ran down from his body was still purple tinted, he didn’t know where it was coming from now, but it was coming.

He popped open his interface panel, cringing at the rush of bottled up energon that’d bled and stayed within him the last day, not wanting to soil one of Ratchets cloths, he used his hands to wipe down the outside of his port, let some water rinse out the inside, he became increasingly worried when the energon deeper inside of him, was a darker blue then it was supposed to be. Bluestreak sighed, wanting to just put this behind him, but he didn’t need to be a medic to know his wounds were infected.

He wanted to live in the comforting spray of the water, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know when Ratchet was going to return, but he was nervous about being caught, so the young mecha swiftly tended to his interface compartment, then scrubbed down the rest of his body, trying hard to reach his back, but finding it hard with two large, quivering wings in the way.

When he exited, dried and looking much better then he had when he came in, Ratchet was waiting for him, well, not exactly waiting, He was organizing some tools off to the side, putting some other things away into the cabinets below the sink, and simply turned to greet the young mech as he stepped from the room.

“I should’ve asked, I know, I just didn’t want to walk all the way to the public ones and~”

“Bluestreak...” The medic mused, his words fell on deaf audios.

“~i also used your shampoo, but I used an older one that had dust on it so you wouldnt be upset with me using some~”

“Bluestreak.” The medic tried again, Bluestreaks wings flexed upward, optic ridges scrunching and still, he kept going.

“I promise ill scrub it down and get all my Bluestreak germs down the drain, I didn’t use the sink but ill clean it, ill clean the entire room, ill make it spotless I ~”

This time, Ratchet didn’t give the mecha time to talk over him. “Bluestreak, Calm down, you used the shower, that’s what its there for.” Bluestreak let out a vent of relief, causing the medic to smirk a little bit, he couldn’t help it, The kid was so stressed, he was bugging about using a wash wrack, at least he was talking a bit more, which was a step in the right direction.

“We’ll that’s good.” Bluestreak mused, wings settling at his back. “Thought for sure you’d hit me with one of those tools of yours.” as he talked, Ratchet guided Bluestreak towards his berth, by casually walking towards him, the youngling backed up when he did so, without even realizing it. Ratchet used this to his advantage, nodding as the child spoke.

“So would I be able to use it again sometime?” The sniper finished as he lifted himself up onto it. “Of course you can, until you’re able to walk right again.” Bluestreak stilled a little bit. “Yes, I noticed.” The medic added and wished he hadn’t, Bluestreak went from somewhat happy, to broken in less then a second as he thought about the ordeal that lead to his crippled walking. He stared down at his pedes with a painful expression, Ratchet couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

“Look, Blue.” Ratchet began, voice soft.

_Blue_

“Hey its okay.” Bluestreak replied evenly, forcing a smile. “Ill be okay, right? And, maybe, could you not call me that, Please?” Ratchet gave him a confused look, he moved to the counters at the center of the room, and began putting certain tools on a small rolling cart, It was Bluestreaks turn to look confused.

“He, sort of, kept calling me that, you know? _Little Blue,_ stuff like that, just reminds me of him.” He explained, Ratchet hummed, understanding it now. He sat an extra scary looking tool down on the cart, then wheeled it over. Bluestreak, tensed up.

“Now that I know it wont be done.” He saw the youngling eyeing his tools, And decided to explain. “I have to check out your interface compartment to make sure you’re healthy.” Ratchet said, getting straight to the point, Bluestreaks vents hitched, he cleared his throat. “Can we do it tomorrow? I have plans with Ironhide tonight...” Ratchets looked hardened, but decided against it, if it would get him out there and feeling better, it was wrong of him to say otherwise. “Alright, but first thing tomorrow.” He demanded, Bluestreak broke into a grin, he slipped off the berth and hugged the gruff medic, Ratchet made a slight sound when the youngling collided with him, he patted his back, lower back, keeping away from his scratched wings.

What seamed like a happy hug of excitement, had a deeper meaning in the end. The medic expected Bluestreak to release the hug, instead, he began to hold on tighter, he started trembling, then sobbing. Ratchet inwardly sighed, and held him tighter, he understood, the kid just wanted to feel safe again, Ratchet wasn’t about to turn him away when he needed him, Damn his reputation to the pit, this kid needed it.

Ratchet ran a hand down the back of Bluestreaks helm, giving him the softest of pets. “Hes not going to hurt you anymore, Bluestreak.” the medic promised, in all seriousness, he leaned down and kissed the top of his chevron, Bluestreak pushed further into him, as if at any second he would pull away and disappear.

Then, in a lighter tone, he added “He won’t get past Ironhide.” Bluestreak snorted a little, pulling away from the medic. “Thanks Ratchet.” he said, giving the best smile he could manage, he leaned to the side to check a hanging digital clock that was on the wall above the sinks, Ratchet followed his line of sight, then patted his helm a bit. “First thing tomorrow morning, got it?” he warned again, Bluestreak nodded, he wobbled towards the door, and Ratchet felt hatred rise in his spark, Bluestreak stretched a leg and after that, walked somewhat normal, but that didn’t make the reasoning right. The youngling left, and Ratchet turned his back to the door.

 _Very_ few decepticons got past Ironhide, if they did, he’d have to go through Ratchet, he may have been a medic, but he was feared by friend and foe for a reason.

-

Bluestreak P.O.V

Ironhide met him halfway, which he wasn’t expecting in the least, he was actually a bit startled to look up from the ground and suddenly see a big red frame standing infront of him, looking down at him with amused crystal blue optics.

“Somethin’ wrong with the ground?” the heavy gunner asked, tilting his helm, Bluestreaks vents huffed, and for a moment he wondered if he was ready for something like this yet. He had to try, he had to. Bluestreak looked up and smiled, optics bright. “Nah, I was just tracing the patterns, Did it start yet?” Ironhide swept his hands before him, Bluestreak took the offered gesture and began towards the rec room.

“Nope, still got some time.” They arrived, Most of the lights were off, aside from one light by the bar that held enough light for everyone else in the room to at least see where they were going, the TV was blaring, flicking through commercial images, Ironhide seated himself down on his favorite spot on the couch, and Bluestreak joined him at his side, a cousin away. Rodimus, Cliffjumper, and Sunstreaker were sharing the other three seater beside them, Hound was asleep in the same recliner he was in before, Bluestreak hoped he’d at least moved since the last time he was here, because it looked like he hadn’t.

Bluestreak… didn’t realize this was going to be a _group_ thing. Usually, he’d be happy with having more mechs around, but now, he felt a little overwhelmed.

“Scoot.” Rodimus said ,bumping Bluestreak over, so he could sit next to him, the young sniper did as told, moving closer to ironhide to fit him in. “Heard you fought off Vortex the other day.” Ironhide, who had been using the remote to check the volume, tilted his helm slightly to his attention. Bluestreak blushed a bit, faceplates heating and darkening.

“Well yeah, I did that.” he managed, trying hard not to choke on his own words, and at Rodimus closeness. Rodimus was silent, but soon realized Bluestreak wasn’t going to elaborate. “How _did_ you fight him off?” Rodimus pressed, slinging an arm over his shoulderpad. “I almost couldn’t believe it, Blue, little blue, Sniper from a distance Blue.” He pulled up his hands, holding them out as if he were holding a gun, he aimed it around a bit, then dropped his servos. “Fight off a _massive_ ‘con like Vortex? With just a blaster shot? Tell me your secret.” Bluestreak knew Rodimus wasn’t trying to make him uncomfortable, its just the way he was, curious in a really weird.. and intimidating way. By now, Bluestreak would’ve been babbling like an idiot, feeding into the hotrods tease, but this time, he vented slowly, optics moving to the far wall. “It was luck really.” Bluestreak muttered, for a single moment, he looked to Ironhide, innocent, begging optics pleading with the larger mech to ‘save him’ Ironhide frowned.

“Luck? Theres no _luck_ in war, kiddo~”

“Movies startin’” Ironhide interrupted loudly, and raspy, he glared at Rodimus, who threw his hands up, and stood. “We’ll, good job anyway, Blue.” Finished, giving him a hard pat on the non-injured shoulder _thankfully_. He got up to rejoin his little possie, Bluestreak sighed in relief, he sunk down into the couch, calming down. Ironhide pretended not to notice, but he wasn’t numb-skulled.

The movie started, halfway through, Bluestreak had fallen asleep, curled up, somehow fitting his entire body on a single couch cushion, Ironhide didn’t have the spark to wake him up, even after the movie ended, and the others left for their berths, aside from Hound, who was still out.

Taking matters into his own servos, Ironhide got up and gently, quietly, scooped the youngling up into his arms, he carried him out of the rec room, down the hall, to the snipers bunking quarter. He managed to pad in the door code with one finger, the door slid upward in opening, Bluestreak shifted at the hissing noise, but other wise stayed asleep.

Ironhide laid Bluestreak down on his berth, and covered him with his blankets. He turned on his little turtle night light that he had in the corner of the room, Ironhide being the only mech who knew the kid still used it. Then, he walked out, making sure to lock it up before he, himself, went to recharge.

  


_'She has dreams to be an envy, so she's starving_   
_You know, covergirls eat nothing_   
_She says beauty is pain and there's beauty in everything_   
_What's a little bit of hunger?_   
_I could go a little while longer, she fades away_   
_She don't see her perfect, she don't understand she's worth it_   
_Or that beauty goes deeper than the surface_   
_Oh, oh_   
_So to all the girls that's hurting_   
_Let me be your mirror, help you see a little bit clearer_   
_The light that shines within_

_There's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark_

_You should know you're beautiful just the way you are_   
_And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart_   
_No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful_

_Oh-oh, oh-oh_   
_And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart_   
_No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful_

_No better you than the you that you are_   
_No better life than the life we're living_   
_No better time for your shine, you're a star_   
_Oh, you're beautiful, oh, you're beautiful_

  
**-Scars to your beautiful, Alessia Cara**


	8. Clingy

 

_Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?_   
_Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_   
_Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?_   
_Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me?_

_And all the people say_   
_You can't wake up, this is not a dream_   
_You're part of a machine, you are not a human being_   
_With your face all made up, living on a screen_   
_Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline_

_I think there's a flaw in my code_   
_These voices won't leave me alone_   
_Well my heart is gold and my hands are cold_

_- **Gasoline Halsey.**_

Bluestreak was fast asleep in a delicate, undisturbed recharge. He was shifting, clearly distressing about something he was thinking about in his dreams. His optics were closed impossibly tight, body clenched beneath his thick soft blanket. It was nearing six in the morning, Bluestreak had no way of telling what time it was. It was his first real night sleeping in his own quarters since the junk yard, Being truly alone again, without Ratchet in the next room, or Ironhide at his feet, It unnerved his unconsciousness, being alone his processor somehow knew he was no longer in the rec. room.

_Bumblebee was seated next to him, the day was still young, though Bluestreak didn’t know what time it was. He honestly couldn’t care for it, a large, carefree smile spread across his face. The young Sniper dug his servos into the ground, forking up sand, clumps and rocks from under the surface. He picked through the sand grains, looking for optic-opening rocks hidden among the little particles. None seamed to catch his eye, that was, until he overturned a clump of wet dirt, to find a sparkling white rock, with a couple black streaks surging through its center._

“ _Hey look at this one!” Bluestreak laughed out, holding the rock up to the sun as he moved so Bumblebee could see it too. The scout looked at it, doorwings perking. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Bluestreak finished, turning it just right, so the sun bounced off the shiny parts. Bee nodded a few times quickly, he held out his hand so he could get a better look, Bluestreak sat it gently in his palm, the yellow autobot looked it over, inspecting it with intrigued, soft optics that were as blue as the sky they sat below. He made a pleased whirling sound._

“ _I like it.” he chirped, having his voice in this universe. “It goes in the pile. I think I already know who to give it too.” Bluestreak smirked, watching as his friend sat the rock down in their steadily growing pile of cool collected rocks. “Let me guess, Prowl?” He finished for the scout, who nodded eagerly, nudging his side with a fist. “reminds me of him.” Bee replied, he tilted his helm ever so slightly to the side, ridges bending, he picked one off the ground. “How about this one?” Bluestreak took the large rock from his hand, humming._

_It was perfectly round, the color of the sand itself with different hues of orange yellow, and red. Sandstone, is what it looked like, but it was a big chunk of sandstone. He weighed it, giving a frown of approval. Somehow, when he looked down at it, he got lost in the milky swirls, That frown turned sincere, he went silent, memories barreling into his mind, memories that had no place in his dream. He was trying to say something: anything, but his voice was gone, all he could do was swallow, and take a struggled vent of air in._

_Bumblebees wings fluffed up, obviously expecting an answer for his choice of mineral, and an input. when Bluestreak didn’t speak, he grew lightly concerned. “Are you okay Blue?”_ Blue _There it was, striking him even in his sleep, It was truly never going to leave him alone, was it? “Yeah, yeah, just been a bit hard.” Bluestreak replied, that darkness seeping into his voice again. He turned the rock over, dusting some stray sand from it. It really was an entrancing rock. He blew away the sand his digits had missed, it sent a mini dust storm into the air._

“ _That whole Vortex thing, Huh?” Bee questioned, Bluestreak shrugged a shoulderpad as his friend studied his far off look. “You seem a bit too down, you know, for just a fight.” Bumblebee said, hinting that he may have known more then he was letting on. Bluestreak stared up at his friends soft look. Had Ratchet said something to him? He wouldn’t have, had it not been a dream, but he couldn’t stop his unconscious self from saying it. “Wasn’t just a fight.” he muttered, he handed the rock back to Bumblebee, then dug his fingers through the sand again, rougher this time._

“ _No?” Bumblebee pressed, not looking at him, the scout chose to pick at the piles of sand that Bluestreak was gorging out from the ground, in his frustration, the sniper dug even deeper, unmasking some water the ground was holding in. “No, He did things to me.” Why was he telling him this? Why couldn’t he stop? Not every bot should know about being defiled, used, especially not his best friend. His vents caught, making a grating sound as he continued. “You know… Sexual things.” Bumblebees face twisted at this, he stared in disbelief, blue optics bending._

“ _He_ what? _” the scout said, almost angrily, gasping a little. Bluestreak swallowed. “He made me interface with him.” He clarified, waiting for Bumblebee to look at him in disgust, judge him, put him down for not trying harder. He looked up from the holes he dug with his servos, only to find he was no longer in the canyon. He was in the junkyard, a large fence surrounded him, much larger then it actually had been at the junkyard. He was quick to stand up, wings fixing to his back as he looked around, thats when he saw it._

_There, in the exact spot where it had happened to him… was Vortex, Pinning a broken, bleeding, and struggling Bumblebee to the floor, using one servo to force his face into the dirt, while the other eagerly, thirstily groped his shaking door wings. Vortex thrusted into the small scout, the rotary blades at his back quivered as he undoubtedly as he overloaded into him. Instead of speaking softly to Bee, like he’d done to the sniper, Vortex turned and looked at him, directly at him, into his spark, into his soul, seeing through him, it made him feel sick._

_He wanted to run to help his friend, but he couldn’t move, his legs wouldn’t work. Vortex stood up, tossing Bumblebee roughly to the side, the scout curled in on himself, looking helpless… is that how he looked, when it was done to him? Vortex approached him, and though the sniper wanted to run, he couldn’t, he was forced to fight his fears. “This is your fault, you know.” Vortex growled out, setting a digit below his chin, he forced the doorwinger to look up at him. “You should've told him, now he has to be hurt. Worse.”_

_Vortex placed a kiss on his cheek, then turned, hand transforming into a blaster._ No. no, no-no-no _He couldnt say it out loud, he doubted the decepticon would've stopped. “Now he has to be dead.” Vortex finished, Bumblebee looked up, once friendly optics filled with terror, he raised a hand, began to plead for his life, but it was like talking to a cube of energon. Useless, pointless, Vortex raised his blaster, and shot the scout point blank in the face_

Bluestreaks optics snapped online, he’d lurched upwards out of his berth so quickly, he actually hurt his back doing so, He’d known it was a dream from the start, but that didn’t cause any less of an impact. Tears rolled down his cheeks, as he took several slow and calming vents to keep himself from the panic attack he felt was bubbling in his spark chamber. It was nothing, he told himself, a dream, something he could forget. Bumblebee was still alive, everything was good, there was nothing to worry about… Though it was everything to fret over. He knew he wouldn’t forget it, maybe over time...

He swiftly rubbed the coolant tears off his cheek, He lifted up his wrist to check the time on his built in clock. It was Six in the morning, _Six in the morning._ Primus he was up _way too_ early, To be honest, he cant even remember when he had fallen asleep in the first place. The last thing he remembered was watching a gorgeous buckskin horse as it trudged through murky water, carrying a child to safety. Bluestreak vented, great, he missed the movie too, He had actually been excited for it.

Bluestreak slid off his berth, his vents cycling faintly, He pushed his dream to the far depths of his processor, the parts that he unsuccessfully shoved everything Vortex. He honestly hated it, it wasn’t just his thoughts, it was this sinking feeling in his spark, his tanks, in his throat, a constant depression that overwhelmed his emotions and kept the same thoughts returning. Sometimes, very rarely, he forgot, it was just so fresh that the littlest thing could bring it back up like a clogged drain, and overspill. He knew he’d need time, but Primus, did it have to hurt so bad?

The gray mech stretched, and immidetely drew back, His panel was impossibly sore now, it lit up like flashes of liquid lava, burning every inch of his insides, almost every time he moved himself just a little too… much, That pain was the only thing forcing Bluestreak into actually wanting to get himself looked at. He’d had battle wounds: frag, a blaster shot literally straight through his shoulder! It hurt, yes, but not as much as his fraggin _port._ It was in tatters, like an old rugged and abused blanket being dragged through the dirt by a raging tornado. _Shattered._

Bluestreak sucked in a breath through parted lips and closed teeth, as he forced himself out of his room to begin his day. Its a new day, He could make it better then the others, he just had to really, _really_ try. He needed some fuel in him, something to keep his body moving, from breaking down or becoming too stiff. But dear Primus was he tired, his optics stung when he blinked, his body was weak and felt like the slightest movement would knock him over, and probably kill him. Though he wouldn’t exactly go _that_ far.

The rec. room, as expected, served as, well, everything recreational. Drinking, lazying, dancing, games, it all happened here. Judging by the time, Bluestreak wasn’t at all surprised when the delayed doors parted to reveal a dark endless pit of a room, with not a single soul within. He Flicked on the lights from when Swerve had turned them off before shutting the room down for the night. He spared a glance in the direction of the television, Showing that Hound was no longer laid back in his self designated reclining chair. Everyone who usually had a late night, slept in, so he hadn’t been expecting company.

Bluestreak sat at the empty bar, with the half filled cube of energon held loosely in his digits, since it was wartime, the Autobots made it clear that he was allowed to drink engex, that he was mature enough, he was never very attracted to the idea of drinking, he’d watched others get plastered, sure it looked fun, but he’d rather have full control over his body then barely know what he was doing. Nah, he’d feel better watching it happen anyway, it was some grade A entertainment, he could record them and make a movie. ‘What autobots do when theres nothing going on in the middle of a war.’ It was a long title… he’d work on it.

He swirled the drink around, even went as far as to dip a finger in to mix it, Sometimes, when the energon in the dispenser sat long enough without being used, the energon minerals would settle, creating almost white like streaks through it, Bluestreak was currently slashing his pinky digit through those swirls, forcing them to merge in with the light blue, processed energon. He took a couple sips, his tanks thanking him almost immidetly, though, after the fourth, he began to feel ill, and decided against finishing it.

Briefly he wondered what kind of thing could cause his stomach to react to that, he had a hard time fueling since he returned from the junk yard, He pinned it on nerves, promising the barely sipped cube that he would return to finish it one day. The door opened, he turned his helm just a bit to see who had entered. It was Prowl, he hadn't seen the mech in a couple days. Bluestreak turned to greet him, smiling wide, genuinely happy to see his brother. Seeing the stoic mechs face seamed to whisk away the events that had him upset.  
  
"Bluestreak." Prowl greeted first, wings held up stiffly, in that position they literally never left Bluestreak collided with his older brother, hugging him tightly. Prowl doubled back, having to brace himself a little to late from the unexpected hug. "Prowl!" The youngling chirped, nuzzling into his chassis, Prowl patted his head, then hugged him back- making sure the rec room was clear of prying optics before he'd done it... Not that he was _embarrassed_ to hug his brother in public.  
  
"You're clingy today." Prowl mused, Giving a half laugh that only Bluestreak would have the Privilege of hearing, Bluestreaks wings bobbled as he pulled himself back, faceplate heating up, he looked to the floor. "Just missed you. It's been a couple days since I.. Fought Vortex haven't seen you, been busy?"  
  
"Very." Prowl replied, motioning to one of the empty stools at the bar, Bluestreak rejoined his seat, and Prowl sat next to him. "I heard all about your little run in with Vortex. Word gets around pretty fast." A barely visible smirk slanted Prowls light gray lips. "Were all pretty proud of you, Bluestreak." He finished, looking down at his little brother, whom he expected to look overjoyed.  
  
He did look joyed, No one knew Bluestreak like the tactician did, so when the youngling looked up, grinned, and made a slight laughing sound of nervousness, his own smile faltered. "What?" Bluestreak began. "Everyone's saying that. I fought off a 'con. You guys do it all the time. Why is it such a special event for me?" He sighed, not really needing an answer, even so, he answered it himself.  
  
"It's because I'm weak, ain't it?" Prowl huffed a bit, a long sigh leaving him after, suggesting he couldn't exactly say he was wrong. Prowl was a bad lair, and Bluestreak knew it, so he didn't even try. "Not weak, just inexperienced.” Bluestreaks sat down on the offered stool heavily. “Great, thanks.” he muttered in reply. Prowl stood there, staring at the young mechs doorwings as they fought to stay in a neutral position.

He sat beside the smaller door winger, staying quiet, feeling bad for how he reacted, and what he said. There really wasn’t a way to take it back now. “I heard from Ironhide that you’re going to start training.” Prowl coaxed, trying to get some conversation out of him, Bluestreak nodded shallowly. “Oh yeah. When i’ve recovered a bit more, maybe a week, maybe longer.” He cleared his vocalizer, his throat feeling scratchy. “Whenever Ratchet clears me.” he finished, sticking his finger back in his drink.

Prowls nasal ridge scrunched in obvious dislike, but he said nothing at his brothers actions, even if it grossed him out. “Yeah.” Prowl rubbed at a spot on the back of his neck, glancing away at the floor, no one needed to be an empath to tell he was feeling awkward, guilty, and a few things in between.

The sound of the rec rooms doors clicking open tore through the silence that reigned after Prowls one word reply, Ratchet came in, looking like he had the, the literal worse night sleep in the history of sleepless nights.

“There you are.” he said, walking over to them, Prowls wings dipped, he got up off the bar stool and nodded to the medic, Ratchet nodded back, but his attention was on the little gray paraxian who hardly turned to notice him.

“Its like six in the morning, Ratch.” Bluestreak began, in that tone that fully suggested he was trying to get out of it. “Can it wait a few hours or something?” Prowl looked between the two of them, his hard thinking processor already calculating the odds of what they were speaking about. Ratchet stopped just short of the childs stool.

“Well, the sooner we start the sooner we finish.” Ratchet said matter of factly, he gestured to the door. Bluestreak gave Prowl a look, who rose an optic ridge. “We’ll catch up.” Prowl promised, Bluestreak smiled at this, he got up, and was quick to pad along after Ratchet, though he wasn't happy about his Prowl time being reduced, he seamed to be greatly relieved as they left him behind, and began towards the medical bay.  
  
They were nearly there, just a corner away, when he heard a whirling sound he quickly recognized, Bumblebee came up behind his friend, and started walking with him, until the young sniper actually noticed he was there. "Welcome back 'bee." Blue said with a smile, Bumblebee wrapped an arm around his friends shoulder in a half hug, then released. His frame was a little battered, but he was otherwise okay. "Heard about Vortex." Bee mused, his voice rising a little to show his interest.  
  
Who _hadn't?_  
  
"Wish I coulda seen it." Bumblebee pumped his fists through he air, as If he were punching the decepticon himself. He was also walking back words to keep up with his friend. Bluestreak laughed, it was forced. The look Ratchet casted back at him, at his laugh, did not go unnoticed. "Yeah, would've been better to double team him." Bluestreak continued unable to feel grumpy in the presence of such a positive 'bot. He'd been like that once. Hopefully he could be again.  
  
"We'd be unstoppable." Bumblebee replied, their steps matching. "But 'cons aside, on the way back I found a really cool place. It looks like it used to be a riverbed. I poked around and saw a lot of pretty nice rocks. If you're not doing anything, we should go check It out." Those perfectly matched steps faltered, he nearly tripped. Ratchet turned, and held his hand out to steady the mech, as he saw it coming. 'Bee stared at him, amused.  
  
"I'm sorry 'bee." Bluestreak said quickly. "Me and Ratchet have some things to do today, medical stuff." Right when he said it, Prowl, who had been following behind unnoticed, on his way back to his office, passed them with quicker steps.  
  
"Ratchet and I." He corrected, as he strode past them, not waiting for anyone's reply, he turned, an entered his office. Bluestreak rolled his optics, Ratchet let out a chopped snort, and Bumblebee seamed obvious to the entire thing. The scout did look a bit upset at being set aside, but he must've understood, after all, he'd made the same promise and broken it when he left to go on that mission, that took a couple extra days then he planned for.  
  
"Okay. I'm going to go watch some YouTube then." Bumblebee said, sounding just a little more depressed then he had before. Bluestreak turned, optics squinted, he was going to make a promise but the yellow autobot had already fell behind, and was on his way back down the hall.  
  
"This won't take all day you know." Ratchet informed him, rounding the corner, to the medical bay, they both entered. Ratchet closed the door, flipped on the 'busy' light. On the outside of the door, there was a little lightbulb hanging just above it. It was green when he could take walk ins, yellow when he was a little busy, and red for occupied. He locked the door too, which brought Bluestreak a little more comfort.  
  
"I know." Bluestreak answered, sitting up on the berth, he watched the medic prepare the table again, most of the tools were left there from the other day when Ratchet wanted to do it, so it didn’t take long for him to wheel it over. “No ones going to come in.” Ratchet said steadily, wanting to ease the youngling as best he could for this. “And you’re going to be alright I promise, Just lay back.” Bluestreak slowly laid back, his vents becoming uneven as he did so, Ratchet patted his arm, and gave him a very kind smile. “Okay.” Bluestreak replied, he closed his optics.

“Open when you’re ready.” Ratchet told him, Bluestreak nodded, after several seconds, he visibly relaxed.

“I’m ready.”

 

_And all the people say_   
_You can't wake up, this is not a dream_   
_You're part of a machine, you are not a human being_   
_With your face all made up, living on a screen_   
_Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline_

_I think there's a flaw in my code_  
_These voices won't leave me alone_  
 _Well my heart is gold and my hands are cold_

_**-Gasoline, Hasley** _


	9. Run

_‘Run,_

_And,_

_Hide again,_

_I want to wait this time,_

_Don’t wonder why you can’t,_

_Clear,_

_This,_

_Final sin,_

_You know this story was over before it began._

_This is a battle you’re not gonna win._

_Welcome to the end._

  


_I’ve spent a lifetime planning out your destruction,_

_You’re never gonna witness another day._

_A lonely lifetime planning out your destruction,_

_With no other function,_

_You really don’t know,_

_How,_

_Long,_

_I’ve,_

_Waited for your destruction,_

_Im telling you, You just cant get away._

_A whole lifetime, planning out your destruction,_

_With no other function,_

_You really don’t know…_

_You better run!_

_ **-Run, Disturbed.** _

  


**IRONHIDES P.O.V.**

Ironhide slept late that day, He’d been drinking, and his body needed its rest. It wasn’t until nearly one in the afternoon, when he finally rose from his bed with an indecent groan, His frame hurt, even though there hadn’t been any action for nearly a week now… He needed more exercise, his old frame was getting stiff with all this _relaxing._

He got out of his berth and went straight to the communication hub, He needed to ask for a patrol, a once around the state, a mission, something, _Anything_. He was starting to get itchy, When he got itchy, he got grumpy, and when he was grumpy… everyone hated him. Not that he cared, he could count how many mechs who didn’t hate him on one hand with three fingers down.

Speaking of which, Bluestreak was coming towards him, from the direction he’d been walking from, Ironhide could tell he was coming from the medical bay. His helm was tilted down to stare at his pedes as he ushered a walk, wings down and slanted. Ironhide stopped, some of that itch disappearing at the sight of the youngling, He originally thought Bluestreak was coming to speak to him, because, well, They always did it, seeing eachother every now again in the halls, they always used to stop for conversation, however brief.

It didn’t seam like it was the doorwingers intention, Bluestreak continued walking, Until ironhide had to act so the mech wouldn’t run right into him. He held out a hand, and gently grabbed Bluestreaks shoulder, just before he could collide with Ironhides frame. Bluestreak jerked back harshly, Helm twitching up with an expression of pure panic. The look struck ironhide straight in his spark, he lifted his hand, and took a step back.

“I’m sorry Blue, Ya were ‘bout to run right inta me.” he defended, words coming out quickly as he tried to accurately describe his feeling. Bluestreak glowered up at him, Optics narrowed. His wings flicked upward in annoyance.

“Don’t call me that.” Bluestreak said acidly, looking away, Ironhide straightened. “Why? Ive always called ya that.” he quarried, hesitant, Bluestreaks shoulders sunk, and he let out a little incoherent grumble, Ironhide frowned, hurt by the sudden, uncalled for rudeness. Ironhide waited for a response, but the sniper seamed to drop it.

“Sorry.” he replied, Ironhide couldn’t help it, he reached out, and used a single index digit under Bluestreaks chin, and lifted his face to look up at him. His optics were not angry, he looked at the sniper, almost inspecting his soul through his lenses, Bluestreak did not pull away, he let it happen, waiting to see just why the heavy gunner was doing this even though he’d been mean.

Ironhide knelt down, removing his digit, he saw the hurt in the kids eyes, the haunted tone, like he’d lived a tortured life, It was the first time he really ever saw Blluestreak look that way. His servo moved, gently and slowly, as if each inch he progressed, he was asking for permission, waiting for him to pull away so he could retreat. When he had no retaliation, Ironhide placed his hand at the back of Bluestreaks helm. He gently cupped a plate of metal at the base of his helm, He smiled, then he pulled the youngling foreword, other arm cautiously coming around his back to act as a better hold, for when he hugged him against his chest. Bluestreaks wings dropped his frame relaxed almost instantly.

“Whats goin’ on Bluestreak?” he asked, Ratchets sketchy explanation repeating in his mind. Bluestreak was quiet, his vents slowing, he wrapped his arms as far around Ironhides back as he could. The little gray autobot breathed him in, optics offlined, He seamed pretty high strung, in that moment, in a bad kind of way. At least he was trying to calm himself down now.

“He still on yer mind?” Ironhide urged him to speak, the paraxian huffed tenderly, the bigger red mech could feel the others need to say something, but something was keeping him from opening his mouth and admitting it. Ironhide wasn’t going to force the kid to tell him, but he’d keep the pressure on, just a little, so he knew, repeatedly, that Bluestreak could trust him.

Bluestreak looked up at him, optics bent, lower lip puckered a little, instead of pulling away, the Sniper felt comfortable enough to lift his helm up, uncertainly, to rest his forehelm on he heavy gunners chinpatch. “Yeah.” He breathed brokenly. “Vortex...” Bluestreak started, voice cracking. “ He~”

“Ironhide!” Jazz’s voice same so loudly, so quickly that t was his turn to jerk away, he was up on his pedes in a quarter of a click, Pulling out of the hug in order to right himself to address the urgent call. Jazz looked a bit guilty at whatever moment he’d just ruined. “Ah’m sorreh, but tha’ was cute as hell.” Jazz said, in a much softer voice. Ironhide scowled at the white mech. “Oh _stop._ ” Ironhide bit back “ _’Eeen’eway..”_ Jazz drawled. “Arcees team needs an assist, ‘er base Is gettin’ raided by cons, We need ya.” Ironhides scowl let him, he looked down, expecting to see Bluestreak, but he was gone.

The heavy gunner glanced behind his shoulder, then turned to get a full view of the hallway. Long gone. He sighed, his arm cannon circulated, making small breezy noises. “Alright.” Ironhide replied, he transformed down into his truck altmode. “Whats the plan?”

**-**

**Ten minutes later.**

**Delta base.**

**East Lincoln.**

**-**

  


The base was withstanding a full blown decepticon attack, As the convoy approached, Arcee, Elita, First Aid, Chromedome, and Jetfire some of the Delta bases residents, and guardians, were already outside putting up a fight, trying to keep them, well, outside, and not in, Away from the technology the decepticons just had to be after. Humans were throwing themselves fully into the fray to protect their alien comrades, letting loose of everything they had. They were doing a great job, so far, there were several decepticons that were still stuck at the front gate, trying to battle their way through.   
  
There were several decepticons assaulting the human base, plenty to choose from, Ironhide could've gone after anyone, but his optics locked on the steadily approaching helicopter, that came from the west. Apparently being a late entry to the fight, just as he was. The Autobots who’d joined him to help Arcee’s team, already had their weapons drawn, and were unloading their inner beasts.   
  
"Vortex is mine." Ironhide basically demanded, not giving any of the others time to protest, or come up with any other kind of plan, he pushed foreword, transforming then whirling up his cannon, he shot up at Vortex speedily, the first two shots missed, the third struck the helicopter in his engine, and the fourth broke through his tailwing, unable to keep pushing, Vortex was forced to transform mid air. He landed on his pedes a few feet away from the weapon specialist, his body shaking the ground as he landed. He pulled back his face mask, smirking. Ironhide scowled at that look, knowing in just a few moments he'd be beating it off him.  
  
"Someone's _pissed._ " Vortex guttural purred, rising his own blaster to mimic Ironhides movements. They came to a brief stalemate, Ironhide wasted no time, and charged, Vortex began shooting at the first inch of movement, the heavy gunner was dodging the bullets as he saw them coming, one hit him, sending metals flying off his shoulderplates, but it didn't stop him from advancing. He dropped his cannon as soon as he got in rage, actually _dropped_ it, he overwhelmed the helicopter, and grabbed his gunhand, then reeled back his fist and slammed it into Vortex's face with all his might.  
  
Vortex staggered with an outcry, as his optic cracked under the pressure. He doubled back, breaking free of the mechs hold, he clutched at the bleeding part. Ironhide just stood there, dangerous optics glaring at him, daring him to retaliate against his attacks.

  
Vortex's visor glistened in the light, as he leaned himself up from the attack, he clearly wasn't going to let it stop him. With a soft, barely audible half-laugh, he lunged, Ironhide was running off pure hatred he'd never held towards... Anything before. He crashed his fist into the mechs tanks, stopping him in his tracks, and putting a hold on his advance, then grabbed his helm when Vortex doubled over, and brought it crashing down hard on his knee, he held it there, just long enough for the mech to fully realize what was happening, and who was dominating him. Vortex struggled, grabbing one of his arms, but Ironhide lifted up and rammed his elbow into the back of the interrogators neck. All grip that the con had, automatically loosened when he struck the nerves that controlled his some of his movements.  
  
"Not used to fighting mechs yer own size, are ya?" Ironhide bartered, he grabbed one of his rotary blades, showing he wasn't done yet, then ripped it out, he kicked Vortex to the ground. Vortex spat, What started off as a sound of struggle, ended in a bitter, evil laugh. “ _Oh_.” The interrogator drawled out suggestively. He rolled onto his hands and knees, and was soon standing again, he shifted, several parts of his body popping with the action. “So _Thats_ what this is about.” Vortex pulled out a blade from behind his back, he twirled it, watching Ironhide clutch the helicopters broken part in his digits

"Little blue, heard he's such a yapper.” Vortex teased lousily. “It's funny 'cuz when I had him, he _barely_ said _anything_." That smirk held Unicon himself in it. Ironhides face twisted. The two collided together in a flurry of fast movements, and the sounds of scraping metal. Ironhide had to admit that Vortex knew what he was doing with his blades, he slashed fast, forcing Ironhide back.  
  
Ironhide growled, then he advanced, wildly yet tactically swigging the rotary blade, hard enough for the dull edges to leave streaks of Energon. Upon the fourth strike, which sliced open a good portion of the decepticons delicate neck wires, Ironhide managed to disarm him, by smacking a nerve on his wrist with the flat end of his improvised weapon.  
  
"Ya won't have 'em again, I'll make sure of it." Ironhide replied, stepping towards him. Despite being at a disadvantage, vortex stood his ground as the red autobot came closer. "He's already mine, Ironhide." Vortex said, tauntingly, noticing the flash of anger that rose in his dark blue optics at the thought. "I broke his seal, you've been around the corner enough to know the impact that can have on such a _young_ mind." Ironhide surged foreword, tackling Vortex to the ground, he punched him two times before he'd fully landed. And when he did land, Ironhide continued to unleash his fists, into the decepticons face.  
  
Vortex struggled to defend himself, trying to block the blows with parallel forearms raised to protect his battered faceplate. Ironhide grabbed him by his throat, and squeezed, and lifted his helm up so he could stare directly into his optics. The look in the decepticons optics said it all, everything snapped into place, his frame stiffened lividly, his servos clutching his neck hard enough for a few cracks to be heard.  
  
"You're a sick paraleach Vortex." He snarled out, pulling forth a blaster he'd hidden at his hip, he pressed it hard Against the mechs forearms, the shot would blow straight through them, and into his face, if he chose to shoot. He made sure his enemy knew this.  
  
"He will never be yours." The blaster charged up, spinning and whining as Ironhide held down the trigger. He leaned down, voice dark and intimidating. The blaster whirled louder, ready at any second to blow off a charge that would blow apart the mechs processor. "Because he's mine, 'con. He will never come to you."  
  
Brawl came lunging from the distance, he threw himself into the unexpecting Ironhide, the blaster shot released as he was thrown off the interrogator shredding and severing Vortex's arm from his body, instead of his helm. Brawl punched furiously at the weapon specialist, who caught one of his fists and twisted, then yanked out, dislocating Brawls servo from his wrist, Brawl let out a howl of pain, Trying to pull out his gun, but Ironhide beat him to it.   
  
"DECEPTICONS, RETREAT!" Megatron could be heard, shouting in the distance, in that one simple second of silence. Without hesitation, Ironhide pressed his gun to the mechs tanks, and shot, tossed his weapon, He shoved his hand up through the blaster hole he created, grabbed his spark, then stared to tare it from his frame. Brawl choked in Energon, his face mask retreating so he could cough it onto the ground. Instead of ripping the decepticons spark out, Ironhide left it hanging there.  
  
Brawl collapsed, spitting and twitching on the dirty, wet ground. He reached out for Vortex, for help, but the interrogator simply stared at him, he looked to Ironhide, who was heaving with rage and ready to pounce. Vortex growled at the autobot, and decided against helping, the other decepticons were already heading for the nemisis. He transformed up, his damage altmode struggling to putter off to retreat with the others.  
  
Ironhide looked down at the dying form of Brawl. "Looks like yer friend up’n left ya." He said, kneeling down, Brawl could not respond, throat full of Energon, body convulsing, his spark pulsing wildly hanging on by a few wires, it bled profusley, down his midsection, like little running rivers flowing down a mountian side. "Shoulda been him." Ironhide finished, lifting his blaster to finish the job. However, a well known, calm voice from behind him, made him stop.  
  
"Ironhide, don't." Optimus said. First Aid rushed past him, sliding onto his kneeplates, already attempting to clip off the bleeding. Ironhide stared at his leader, just nw remembering that he wasn’t the only one on the battlefield. Reality came crashing back, as his battle raged high came down, he vented hard, wanting nothing more then to blast his helm apart until there was nothing left but energon coverd ash.  
  
"Brawl has been abandoned by his faction. He cannot defend himself." Optimus said steadily. Ironhide spun to face his leader, a wicked tint in his optics. "So wha? We save 'em? A con? We kill cons all the time, prime!" Optimus slowly came up to the shaking mecha, who was still pumped up in defense mode. "Not like this." Optimus replied. First aid stabbed a syringe into the decepticons neck, causing him to fall into stasis. He gestured for some help, Arcee, Rodimus and Elita-3 came up to him, to help lift Brawl up. They began to carry him towards the smoking base.  
  
Anger bubbled inside him, but he forced it down, and stayed quiet. He turned and followed after the others as they lugged the new prisoner into the delta base. The only thing he could focus on now, was Bluestreak, the poor kid, keeping that to himself, facing it alone.  
  
"I'm going back, Optimus." Ironhide told his leader, who was following close behind. Optimus stopped when Ironhide bent down into his truck altmode. “Alright, Tell the others that we will have to move the base to ours, so it might be cramped a while. This one has been discovered and is no longer safe.” Ironhides engine rumbled In response, he sped off, kicking up mud and grass, leaving ruts of his tire tracks indented in the wet ground.  
  


_‘Run,_

_And,_

_Hide again,_

_I want to wait this time,_

_Don’t wonder why you can’t,_

_Clear,_

_This,_

_Final sin,_

_You know this story was over before it began._

_This is a battle you’re not gonna win._

_Welcome to the end._

_Ask_

_Me_

_Why again,_

_Nowhere to go this time_   
_Revenge will be mine again_   
_Say_

_Good_

_Bye, my friend_

  
_Don't run away this time and die like a man_  
  
_There is no escape from my plan_

  
_Welcome to the end_

_I’ve spent a lifetime planning out your destruction,_

_You’re never gonna witness another day._

_A lonely lifetime planning out your destruction,_

_With no other function,_

_You really don’t know,_

_How,_

_Long,_

_I’ve,_

_Waited for your destruction,_

_With no other function,_

_You really don’t know…_

_You better run!_

  


_**-Run disturbed.** _


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had a merry Christmas everyone, heres some fluff.

[Song Credit:-Madness, Ruelle,]

  


Bluestreak retreated, he was having a hard time intaking, It’d been on the top of his glossia, the words he never wanted to say. He was somewhat relieved when he was cut off. He pressed his doorwings against a wall, having slid down the first indented hallway branch he could find in the immediate area. He guessed fate just didn’t want it to be revealed, though he didn’t doubt that it was just bad timing. Ironhide was pretty damn determined, Bluestreak knew he’d be back.

And that thought… it didn’t exactly frighten him. He retired to his quarters. The day had barely started, and he was already regretting waking up.

When he got to his room he sat on his berth for a little bit, string at an abandoned datapad, sitting on his table stand, Having been untouched since a few weeks before. When was the last time he heard music? He got up and padded in his passcode, sighing as he flicked through his favorites list. He didn’t know which one to go with, so he ended up just hitting the shuffle button. He stood there, turning his back to the electronic, wanting the tiny, bright feeling one got when a favorite song came on by surprise. He didn’t want to see the screen tell him, he wanted to feel it.

It started with a thick, drawled warble of an electronic base, slow and heavy, a soft female voice emerged from the dark electronic tone, captivating the young mecha, like it had done plenty of times before. This time, Though, the lyrics hit him harder, with a stronger meaning then they once had.

‘ _I see, that look in your eyes,_

_It makes me go blind...’_

Bluestreak lifted up his helm, then turned up the volume. He’d always liked this song because of how it sounded, that constant, building up spark-touching rip of the base, it entranced him.

_Cut me deep, these secrets and lies…_

_Storm in the quiet…_

_Ooh, ooh, ooh…’_

He wondered over to the berth and sat back down on it, a tiny scowl setting on his face, Only now, while he was able to sit and think, clearly, for the first time in days, Did he realize just how _delicate_ he was unconsciously portraying himself to be. He’d made it through a war, through of his friends death, and he was dealing with it just fine, in his own way. Since when did he ever give up on himself? Give into what he feared?

‘ _Ooh, ooh, ooh…’_

Since… Now.

‘ _Feel the fury, Closing in._

_All resistance wearing thin.’_

He took several deep vents, optics closing, like every other time, he saw the big Decepticon clouding his vision, This time, though, He didn’t tense, go stiff, or lock up from the distress Vortex caused him in the past. It’d only been a few days, He would get stronger, and maybe even become better. He sniffed, blinking out a tear that hovered at the brim of his optics. Yet, he still felt trapped, Still felt helpless, Useless, embarrassed… He stared down at his hands, processor concluding that he’d forget someday.

For now… It was all he could think about.

‘ _Nowhere to run from all of this havoc.’_

Bluestreaks wings flexed up with anxiety.

‘ _Nowhere to hide from all this madness, madness, madness...’_

He sucked in a mouthful of air, finding it wasn’t enough. His throat was closing up again.

‘ _Madness, Madness, Madness.’_

‘ _Ooh, ooh, ooh…’_

His blaster folded neatly out of a subspace pocket in his wrist, whirling to life with a high pitch ring, ready and expecting some sort of fight, but getting nothing of the sort. He still remembered when he was given this blaster, before he could talk properly, Prowl had him fitted with this. Prowl, before the war, was an enforcer, so he knew more then anyone the evils of the world. He wanted the youngling to protect himself, because he wasn’t always there to do it himself.

_Ooh, ooh, ooh..._

_Ooh, ooh, ooh…_

On the side of his blaster, was a round dial, which circulated through four different modes his blaster could be in. Unlocked, Safety, Rapid fire, silenced, He toyed with it, mind blanking out. He remembered the pain he’d felt getting shot severely like that for the first time.

_Ohh, ooh, ooh…_

For the start of it, he was numb to it, barely felt a thing, just saw the energon, felt the wound with his servos, there wasn’t much pain, until a few minutes after… but by then he was going through something that more or less took his processor off it. He reached up and pressed his non-blaster formed hand gently into the healing injury. It may have been wielded up, but he could still feel the sting it left on the inside of him, when he pushed a little harder.

Within that twinge of pain, he found focusing on it, made the images of Vortex easier to drive away. Could it really be that easy?

_Feel the fury, Closing in._

_All_ _r_ _esistance wearing thin._

Shooting himself was too extreme, he needed something more subtle, until he figured out if it had any effect. It really had him thinking, What kind of pain did he _actually_ deserve? He was acting before he was thinking, Bluestreak jammed his digits into a panel on his blaster, he pried it open, he twisted, then ripped off the protective layer of metal lifting it up to look at its jagged edge, then ghosted his fingers over the warped metal holding his shoulder together.

‘ _N_ _owhere to run from all of this havo_ _c’_

He slowly sunk it into the patch job Ratchet had wielded up, At first he felt nothing, so he decided to push harder, that scowl still set on his face, as he thought through every reason he could justify this. What the frag was he even doing? It wouldn’t be too big of a deal just to try it once, just to see.

_Nowhere to hide_

Energon dripped down from the rugged, sharp, and broken latch edge. He could definitely feel it now, it burned, stung, and most importantly…

_from all this madness, madness, madness.._

His focus shifted to that pain, instead of the mech who drove him to do it.

_Madness, Madness, Madness._

Shifting the latch in his grip, Bluestreak vented evenly, calming himself, preparing himself, for the sudden downward-jerk he sprung on himself. He hissed, but found, it was much much weaker then a bullet wound.

_Ohh, ooh, ooh…_

He stared down at the latch, bright sky blue energon running down its length just like the tears currently slipping from his lenses.

_Ohh, ooh, ooh…_

Is this what he was now? Could it really make him stronger? He looked over the wound he reopened, feeling the energons warmth slink down his forearm, It was larger now, of course, and it didn’t hurt as badly as he expected. Bluestreak dropped the latch into his small waste bin, then reached in a drawer for an oil rag. He dabbed the cut a few times, then stuffed it inside to clog the flow. Now he was back to how he started, listening to the last glow of the songs notes.

_Ohh, ooh, ooh…_

_Ohh, ooh, ooh…_

Panic set in him, he didn’t _want_ to hurt himself, What else could he do? What else was there? He hated questioning himself, he hated being so unsure, and at this moment… He hated how his processor refused, absolutely refused, to move on from it. A different song came on, but he was too lost in his thoughts to get into it. Nearly an hour passed, He’d barely moved from his position, Still had that warn out look on his smooth face, still feeling no better then then before. As if Primus knew he needed it, there was a hard series of knocks on his door.

Now really wasn’t a good time… then again, When was ever a good time? “Who is it?” Bluestreak called, half expecting Ratchet. He got Ironhide, instead, concluding after the cautious gunners voice spoke. “Its Ironhide.” He announced. “Look.” He continued, his voice quieted and muffled by the metal door. “I’m sorry I sorta cut off yer, what you was tellin’ me. Jazz kinda came outta nowhere. But… Ya can tell me now?” He quarried, Blustreak just sat there, He could’ve just walked in and said this, the larger autobot knew his doorcode, but he chose to remain outside, Giving him his privacy… he was grateful.

“Sure.” He replied, The door lifted, Ironhide waited for the door behind him to close, he looked at the floor over in Bluestreaks direction, who was looking as if he regretted letting him inside. Ironhide wanted to say something, but he didn't exactly know what to say. His optics landed on Bluestreaks reopened wound. It was the first thing he noticed, giving, how the bright blue, almost glowing lifeblood stood out in the low lighted room   
  
As it turns out, he didn't have to. Bluestreak lifted up his legs and crossed them on the berth, facing him. "'Hide, I don't trust myself alone." He said, Rolling some of his Energon between his fingers. Ironhide said nothing, waiting for him to continue, which, he did. "I hurt myself. I don't know why. I did, and I didn't really want to. I just wanted to see if it stopped my thoughts about Vortex. Every day. Almost every minute. You all get attacked and come home laughing. I can't even function normal anymore." He sighed out, frustrated. "It's like my processor is obsessing over it. I do things and do things but I keep thinking about it..."  
  
"It don't make it go away forever, Bluestreak." Ironhide told him lightly. "It takes time."  
  
"I just want to forget." Blue whimpered out, curling in on himself just a little bit. "I don't know how to forget. How do I Ironhide?"  
  
"It takes time." Ironhide repeated, even softer this time. He couldn't help it, he reached out, but stopped before he could touch the youngling. "Is it alright if I?" He broke off, letting Bluestreak fill in what would finish the sentence. The youngling looked at him, looked at his hand, he felt a longing in his spark, for just that. He nodded, shifting closer to the large mecha, who wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him against his side.  
  
"What happened to you... It's something that will take a long time to move on from." Ironhide began, he'd never dealt with something like this before, but he was smart enough to know how to act. He wracked his processor for something encouraging to say. "What I went through?" Bluestreak said slowly. He looked up at the heavy gunner, sadness in his pretty colbalt optics. "You...know?" He finished sheepishly. Ironhide felt him tense up, it only encouraged him to hold the other tighter.  
  
"Yea." He replied quietly. Bluestreak looked awkwardly at his hand. "...Ratchet?" Bluestreak speculated. Ironhide frowned, shaking his helm a little bit. "No. Vortex told me. While I was fightin' 'im today." Bluestreak sighed, he supposed it was alright, since it'd come into light like that. There was really no one else to blame but Vortex himself.  
  
"I can pretend to not know if it makes ya feel better." Ironhide said jokingly after Bluestreak seamed to loose himself in his thoughts again, it successfully earned a small smile from the sniper. He choked on a half laugh, and reached out to play with a couple of Ironhides fingers that were hanging over his shoulder pad.  
  
"Just don't tell anyone else?" He asked. "Not everyone needs to know." He sunk into Ironhides warm metals, it took everything the older mech had, to not pull Bluestreak onto his lap and just... Hug his fears away. "I won't." Ironhide shrugged nervously, staring at the floor a second, after thinking it through, he cleared his throat.  
  
"I'm going to stay with you tonight." He told him, leaving him no wiggle room for protest. Bluestreaks wings twitched upward, his optics brightening just a bit. "So you don't hurt yourself again." He got up, stretched his back, resulting in a series of pops, then, he knelt down before Bluestreak who still sat on his berth. "You don't have to..." Was Bluestreaks unconvincing reply.  
  
It'd been a very long time since he'd acted this way with anyone, but he needed to- and he wanted to. Bluestreak had unknowingly been his savior more then a few times. He knew the others grew annoyed with him, and the youngling was just trying to be friendly... If Ironhide was gone, Bluestreak might never have that kind of trust with anyone again.  
  
Bluestreak stared at him with wide optics, gears on the inside jerking and circulating as he focused on Ironhides facial features, the scars and dents that were too deep to be painted over, or pounded out. He took Blues servo, brushing a thumb over the backside of if. "Ya trust me, right?" Ironhide asked him smoothly. Bluestreak nodded hesitantly, optic ridges crinkling in thought. "Good, cuz I'm gonna stay. Righ' here. And I ain't goin' no where 'till you feel safe enough ta sleep on ya own." Ironhide said, he laced his larger fingers with Bluestreaks own, the young mecha eagerly held his hand the second Ironhides fingers began bending around his.  
  
"I'll keep watch while ya sleep. I won't let ‘im get you." Bluestreak smiled at the reassurance. He sprang foreword from his berth and tackled-hugged the red autobot, throwing all his body weight into it. Even with all his weight, the weapon specialist was still able to stay upright, though, instead of kneeling he did have to drop into a seated position in order to keep him balanced.   
  
Before Ironhide could fully wrap his arms around the sniper, Bluestreak already had his arms around the others neck, and his feet locked around his back. It was a move he would readily expect from the old Bluestreak~

“That exciting huh?” Ironhide muttered, smiling, he felt Bluestreak nod into his neck. The weapon specialist looked down at Bluestreaks frame, noticing how strong his hold was, This time… there was no way someone could walk in and distract him. The longer he stayed there, the more he wanted to hold him. He didn’t know if it was his desire to protect, or something deeper. One thing was for certain… He didn’t want to go.  
  


_I am tied by truth like an anchor_

_Anchored to a bottomless sea_

_I am floating freely in the heavens_

_Held in by your heart's gravity_

_All because of love_

_All because of love_

_Even though sometimes you don't know who I am_

_I am you_

_Everything you do_

_Anything you say_

_You want me to be You're me_

_With your arms on a chain_

_Linked eternally in what we can't undo_

_And I am you_

_**-I am you, Kim Taylor.** _

_[Song credit:-Madness, Ruelle_ ]


	11. Chapter 11

  


_And I’m screaming no,_

_Sound..._

_Between lost and,_

_Found..._

_And the only face I see is from my darkest dream,_

_Dark dream…_

_If I make it home this time ill never leave,_

_Won’t leave…_

  


_When you can’t run fast,_

_Ill walk with you._

_When you cant stand up,_

_Ill carry you, too._

_Even in the darkest hour_

_You’ll never be alone,_

_Even when you’re far, far, far…_

_...From home._

_- **Far from home, Gareth Emery.**_

  


They remained like that for a while, Ironhide just holding the tortured youngling. He barely moved, made it clear that he wasn't trying to make any moves on him. Bluestreak for the most part handled it very well. Ironhide repositioned the sniper, so he could stand himself up and still carry him. He moved to sit on the berth which was more comfortable for him. Bluestreak lifted his head and stared at the edge of his berth. Bluestreak weighed almost nothing, which was to be expected from a youngling, but part of him could already feel the sign. He looked around the room subtly, trying to find any cube, empty or full, of energon. He saw nothing.

He wasn’t fueling properly.   
  
From the blank look in Bluestreaks optic, there was no telling what he was thinking about. Then again, he probably already knew the only thing he _couldn’t stop_ thinking about about. Ironhide stayed quiet, letting the youngling breathe and calm himself down. Within minutes his frame was totally relaxed against Ironhides, going from a tight, almost frightened grip, to a loose comfortable hold.  
  
Ironhide finally decided to speak. "Ya know, it ain't supposed to be like that." Bluestreaks helm tilted just an inch to the side, showing he didn't fully understand. The heavy gunner elaborated before he could ask. "Interfacting. When done right, it feels... Great." Ironhide vented awkwardly, looking past his little gray friend to the far wall.  
  
"I think I know." Bluestreak answered. "At this one point... He made me feel really... Good." He muttered, sounding confused and also a little embarrassed, for talking about it. Ironhide tried to hide his anger, he did an... Okay job doing so.  
  
"I'm gonna kill tha bitch." Ironhide growled through gritted denta. Slightly less, but still okay?  
  
"But first imma take 'Im prisoner an' feed 'em poison that'll make his spike rust." The heavy gunner mused. Not okay at all. He was ungracefully getting worse, he opened his mouth to no doubt spew another sentence about torture, when Bluestreak cleared his throat quietly.  
  
"They make stuff like that?" He asked the bigger autobot, momentarily, Ironhide had to remind himself that Bluestreak was the youngest among them. However, if recent events proved anything, it showed how mature he was becoming. "Well..." He paused, frown forming. "...no." Ironhide replied uncertainly. Bluestreaks doorwings drooped like a blade of grass being weighed down by raindrops. "There's probably stuff tha' can make 'im rust." His frown deepened as he began to take off on a plot train.  
  
"I'm sure Chemical can... Come up with a... Chemical that'll do the trick." He broke off, snapping his fingers. "Or I could just do it tha Ole fashion way. Shoot it." He lifted his cannon arm, Bluestreak reached out and touched the large cannon attached, then, he laid his cheek against it and looked at the warrior as he pondered. "'Could give 'Im to Ratchet." He continued. "But killin'im is too slow. It needs ta be drawn out."  
  
"Why don't you do what he did to me, to him?" Ironhide bulked at the youngling, the thought never crossing his mind, he wasn't that kind of mech and he never would be. "No." He said sternly, trying to vanquish any thoughts he was having about it. "That ain't right. Makes you no better'en him." Bluestreak stood his ground at the mechs warning. "Yet, torturing, maiming, mutilating, an' giving him to people like property isn't?" Ironhide stilled, he couldn't argue with it, because it was utterly true.  
  
"Well this is war~"  
  
"So if all that is acceptable why isn't _that_? Why can _they_ do it but we cant?" A dark shadow crept across the small mechs face, his optics went unfocused, and when he spoke, his voice was low, with a little tremble to it. "I want him to hurt like I did." He lifted his helm from the mechs cannon, and stared into his eyes. "Cutting off his spike ain't enough, putting him in prison ain't enough, killing him ain't enough, slaving him ain't enough." His frame started to shake, as he rose his voice a little, the usual young joyful tone turning into something much more morbid.  
  
"He needs to be hurt. He needs to have a spike bigger then his stabbed into him. Hard enough for it to cut up his insides. He needs to be held down and given no mercy for hours. All hours, every hour. Non stop till he passes out." Ironhide clearly didn't like where this was going. He put a hand against the young mechs cheek, hoping it would stop him, or calm him down. "And it needs to keep happening while he's passed out, 'till he wakes up again from the pain, an passes out again, then shoot him in the leg so he wakes, and keep doing it. 'Till he's crying and can't scream anymore cuz his voice box gave out and he has no voice so he can't get anyone to help him~"  
  
"Bluestreak, stop~”  
  
" _Why couldn’t he_?" Bluestreak Erupted, springing off Ironhides lap to crash his fist into the nearby wall. Rage was evident in his voice, in his posture, in all of him, a raw kind of anger that Ironhide never thought he'd hear. Bluestreak was surprising him quite a lot lately. It wasn't exactly a good thing.  
Ironhide did the only thing he thought he could do. He got up and carefully went to him, to cup the back of his helm and brought Bluestreaks face to cradle it against his neck, he began giving his back a massage, slow and calm, looming over him.  
  
"Because he's a con Streak." Ironhide said, the new nickname made his wings jerk up and his spark swell skip just a little bit, it helped in calming him. "'Cons don't listen. And they don't care." He pulled his helm from his chest, and rested his forehelm against Bluestreaks. "Don't ever stoop to their level, ya hear?" Bluestreaks gaze fell to his lap, Ironhide gently brought it back up to his attention by thumbing his chin patch. At this point, Ironhide nearly had him pressed against the wall, Bluestreak didn't seam to care, he simply looked up at the larger mech, unknown feelings rising in him. He'd never seen this side of Ironhide. He decided he like it.  
  
"Ya hear me?" Ironhide repeated, causing the young mech's helm to twitch in a nod. Ironhides vents caught, he had the urge to lean down and kiss those light silver lip plates. Captivated by the sparkle of hope in the younglings eyes, how beautiful they were when he stared into them. His optics weren't just blue: they were a mess of different shades of the color, mostly a very light, almost white blue that swirled and pooled at the edges of his lenses like leaking oil seeping into a pond. He'd never been this close to the sniper, but he'd be lying if he said the thought of kissing him never crossed his mind before.  
  
Instead, Ironhide settled with leaning down ever so slightly, to plant his lips on Bluestreaks cheek. Bluestreaks face heated up, he nervously stared at his pedes while his vents purred heavily, in tune to his puttering engine. Then, came the unexpected. "Can you... Show me how it's supposed to feel good?"  
  
"I don't think yer ready for that." Ironhide replied slowly. To which, the youngling muttered. "When I ... Overloaded. It felt so good. I ... Kind of want to feel it again. But I don't really know how to do it. I mean? Vortex just~" he broke off, making a pumping motion with a balled fist. "Did that."  
  
Ironhide watched it with a blank face, it took a lot to hold back the smirk. "...Yeeea..." Ironhide drawled out, venting hard. "That's really all there is ta it. Ta that at least." He puffed out a vent, and moved himself away from the youngling, giving him space. Out of everyone, Bluestreak asked _him_ he was almost flattered, but nervous none the less. He may have been a handsome mech, but interface was a subject he held little skill in. Judging by the look on Bluestreaks face, it was a subject the young mech was also inexperienced with.  
  
"So you just do that and that happens? That's so weird." Ironhide nodded slowly, sucking in a little air through his teeth. "When ya think about it yea, it's pretty weird. Then again, Cybertronian reproduction is, It's a good thing ya ain't a carrier frame. Tha las' thing we need righ' now is a sparked up warrior." Bluestreak said nothing, Ironhide did a double take of the situation and realized how selfish that sounded. "Ya aren't, right?" Ironhide finished, after watching the mech fidget.  
  
"Ratchet said I was. A carrier frame." Bluestreak said awkwardly, gently pinching a word at the back of his neck, it was a particular wire, one that Prowl told him, when squeezed, had the ability to reduce his stress. Bluestreak could now say that Prowl was a friggen liar, it didn't reduce anything, but it did make him feel more like an idiot. Upon hearing this, Ironhides face dropped to his hands, he let out an exasperated. "Uuieh." It was not a distinguishable word, it was more like a sound. "It's too early for little Bluestreaks." Ironhide rubbed at his face, muttering."I can't even imagine~"  
  
Bluestreak smirked, he shoved Ironhide playfully. "No disrespecting my body children. They'd be great." He warned. "Where else would a child come from?" Ironhide asked seriously, trying to understand the concept of 'body children.' "Well you could have a mind child which is basically imagining you have a child when you don’t."  
  
"Pretty sure that's a legitimate medical condition." Ironhide whispered, forcing it to be a humorless tone. He then added, voice tight suggesting he was trying not to laugh. "Who taught you this?"  
  
"Wheeljack." Answered the youngling. Ironhide snorted. "Yep. Sounds like common Wheeljack babble.” he replied, cracking a single knuckle on his servo. You read right. Just one, those of you with OCD, my deepest apologizes >;]   
  
"You can have another body child.” Bluestreak continued passionately, talking over the larger mech, Who would no longer hold back his smile. Ironhide sat on the edge of the only chair Bluestreak had in his room, looking at the gray autobot while he explained. His wings twitched when he said certain words, like they always had. “~Which is a sparkling sparked from another, person but you adopted them, or something, and now it's your another body child.”

“Wha’ about someone who adopts a different species child?” Ironhide encouraged him, wanting him to keep talking, because it seamed to cheer him up, So he went with it. Bluestreak hummed as he thought, he sat back down on his berth. “Wheeljack never said nothing about it...” he trailed off, optics crinkled in thought. “But.” he looked up to the larger mech. “It would probably be called an another other body child. Maybe… Are we talking about aliens or animals? ‘cuz im sure humans call those ‘Furr babies.’” He air quoted, then stared at Ironhide, waiting for something in return, when he got cocked optic ridge from the heavy gunner, Bluestreaks wings flexed upward. “Ive kind of always wanted one of those, like with furr, I saw a dog the other day, one of the humans brought it over, I wanted to pet it so bad but I was scared I was gonna smush it with my massive finger ‘cuz it was so tiny...” he stared at his hands, voice trailing away. After a second though, his amusement slowly fled from his face, as it dawned on him, just why they were having this conversation.

“Um, Hey?” Bluestreak began, the tone in his voice suggesting he wanted to change the subject. “Could you show me some defensive moves today? Itll help me take my mind off it.” Bluestreak said quietly, Ironhide thought a moment, he nodded as he stood from the back of the chair, letting their conversation slide out unnoticed. “Alright but just looking today.” he warned him softly. “When yer stronger we can do some hands on.”

**[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]**

_**A few minutes later.** _

**[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]**

The training quarter, Bluestreak hadn’t been here much before, just a few times when Prowl wanted him to learn more seriously. The training quarter wasn’t apart of the ark, it was a large dome built nearby, the entire thing was hidden under a cloaking field, disguised as a mountain. When bluestreak arrived, following close behind Ironhide, he couldn’t help but take a few extra seconds to gawk over the buildings inside. There was so much, training simulations, a bulletproof glassed room, that had a training course set up in it. A weapons range, even a small arena to fight in. Currently, the dome was empty , the light shining in from the glass celing made it look like there were lights on.. but there hadn’t been, When Ironhide flicked on the lights, the room was bathed in a bright white glow, which made everything look cooler.

“Sit.” Ironhide demanded, pointing to one of the benches that sat outside of the glass encased traning course. “But how are you supposed to teach me if im sitting?” Bluestreak asked the obvious question, but sat none the less, Ironhide answered the question while turning his back to the younger autobot. “Observe. Tha’s yer lesson for today. Ya watch me fight, an’ try ta come up with yer own variation, like plottin’ it out.” Bluestreaks optics flickered, he glanced around the empty room.

“Who are you fighting exactly?” As if to save him from the embarassment, the domes door clicked open, they both looked over, skeptical expressions bending their features. It was Sideswipe who was whining and pawing at Prowl, who had one monster of a grip on his shoulder, leading him into the room, “C’mon Prowl. Anything else, _Anything!_ ” He could be heard, as Prowl continued to lead him towards Ironhide, who turned, his lips slid into a grin.

“It really wasn’t my idea, no, It _really_ wasn’t my idea, _Please_ Prowl, I was _framed._ Rodimus he~”

Prowl sighed out loudly, the noise was highly annoyed. “Enough about _Rodimus,_ Your mech crush, its _disgusting, by the way_. Its entirely your fault.” Sideswipe spun around, in attempts to push his way past Prowl furious with the ex enforcers words... but the disciplinary master had other ideas. He grabbed Sideswipe, with amazing reflexes, by his chin, The gesture would have been seen by many others, as a romantic move, but Sideswipe knew better. He was literally being forced to stare Unicron in the optic. _He knew better,_ Trust him.

He stilled. Prowl narrowed his optics, sending fear into the red front liner like nothing ever could before. Bluestreak snickered, he’d been down that road before. “ _Anything else_ never works, Sideswipe. You still won’t listen. I’ve given you ample chances to set yourself right, But you keep making your choices. Any lesser punishment would just end up the same as they always have.” His grip loosened, but he did not remove his servo, He had Sideswipe under his complete control, with his calm, dark aura and his dead set lips in a firm line. The red twin wasn’t shivering in his fear, but he wasn’t retaliating, and that, was a miracle all in its own. “You can’t baby a youngling forever.” His tone dropped huskily, he spoke quieter but Bluestreak could still understand him.

“You had your _chance_ the last four times, the last eight times.” He huffed, pulling his hand away. “You and that damned brother of yours.” Prowl growled, he took a breath in a brief pause, then advanced on the mech, forcing Sideswipe to backstep to keep his distance. “I’m done giving In, This time I’m hurling you to the cyberwolves, so you better learn your purpose quick or ill sit here, and watch him eat you alive, until hes left nothing but the outer _skin_ of your egoistic, daft sparksack behind.”

“Damn, Hes throwing out the big words, Prowls pissed.” Ironhide muttered in the background.

“Jesus Prowl.” Sideswipe whispered out, hands risen. Prowl rose his voice over his. “Ironhide.” When Sideswipe turned around, Prowl reached out and regrabbed Sideswipes shoulderplate, he barely squeezed a seamingly senstive area on the armor, because Sideswipe flinched into the pain, yelping like an injured girl. “Chill!” Sideswipe growled and accepted defeat, he went slack, and allowed Prowl to push him foreword.

“He needs an ass kicking, Can you deliver?” It was as simple as that. Ironhide crossed his arms as the distance closed, Sideswipe stared at the far wall, pouting. Bluestreak couldn’t help but smile at the way Ironhide eagerly accepted it. He really was a warrior, he not only did it because he had to, but because his spark found harmony in it. “You have no clue how perfect yer timin’ is, Prowl.” Ironhide mused. It looked like his spark found enjoyment in it as well.

“Lets go ‘Sides.” Ironhide gestured to the enclosed training course. “I’m teachin’ Bluestreak how to properly defend ‘imself. And yer gonna be a big help.” Prowl let go and folded his arms over his chassis, glaring after Sideswipe slunk off towards his doom. When Sideswipes back turned, the ex enforcers wings relaxed with just a tiny bit of downward movement. He looked over to Bluestreak, who was expectedly staring at him with a hazy smile.

“I’m glad you decided to start with training again.” He began, as he walked up to him, and sat beside his younger brother. “Its a good first step, When you got ahold of that sniper, I though~”

“ _I can walk ‘hide I don’t need a_ n escort I aint handicapped.”

“~You’d never train for close combat again.” Bluestreaks wings rose, finding some satisfaction in Prowls happiness.

“You’re stupid, an tha’s a handicap.”

Prowl glanced over in Ironhides direction, Bluestreak followed his brothers curious optics, Ironhide had finished coaxing the timid twin into the ring, the glass doors that’d opened for them, began to close, sealing the two autobots in. “I aint stupid.” Sideswipe defended, the door closed with a small thud, Sideswipes voice was muffled. “I ain’t stupid, i’m just a free spirit.”

“Free spirit my aft.” Ironhide grumbled, as he detached his cannon. “You aint a wild mustang, ‘Sides ya got responsibilities now.” he paused, tossing his cannon softly to the side.

“Wild mustang?” Sideswipe quarried taking a step back. “Blue, pay attention.” Ironhide demanded. “Ya gotta know when ta advance an’ when ta pull back. If ‘es bein’ a lil bitch backin’ up like ‘sides here, ya advance.” Ironhide lunged foreword in a single swift movement, he punched Sideswipe in the tanks, who barely had a second to find his breath, the weapon specialist grabbed one of Sideswipes arms, and used it to propel the red twin over his back. Sideswipe landed with a gruff huff of strained pain. “This is abuse.” he mewled out, rolling over.

“Come on Sideswipe. Can ya try? Ya could’ve come back from tha’ I have ya a second.” Ironhide scolded Sideswipe, who got back up on his feet, muttering angrily. Swideswipes optics flickered, and he formed a deep frown, one could piratically see him becoming focused, serious.

“There we go.” Ironhide purred out. “Though it aint fair, cuz theres one thing ya gotta know about our twins.” Ironhide said to Bluestreak, While Sideswipe fixed himself upright. “They got this genetic button, an’ if ya push it~” Ironhides words were cutt off by a speedy red blurr, that crashed into him, and sent him crashing on his back, he struggled with the mech a moment. “Fine, ill try.” Sideswipe spat, punching Ironhide in the throat, Ironhides vents whailed, he threw the red twin off him. “They go gladiator mode.” he finished.

‘ _You can’t break me,_

_Crushed the fears of yesterday,_

_You can’t change me,_

_Barriers our trust will fade,_

_I’ve_

_Stood in the dark_

_Been waiting all this time,_

_While we damn the dead_

_I’m trying to survive._

_I’M NOT READY TO DIE!’_

_- **Not ready to die, Avenged Sevenfold**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year!

**  
** _We don't have to take this, back against the wall_

_We don't have to take this, we can end it all_

_All you'll ever be is a fading memory of a bully_

_Make another joke while they hang another rope, so lonely_

_Push them to the dirt till the words don't hurt_

_Can you hear me?_

_No one's gonna cry on the very day you die_

_You're a bully._

_ **-** **Bully, Shinedown.** _

Bluestreak watched, amazed, as the two autobots all out brawled on the training course, using everything at their disposal to land a strike on the other, including the course itself. Ironhide climbed onto one of the large rocks, and body slammed Sideswipe who attempted to yank him off by his foot. Sideswipe struggled beneath the larger mech. **  
  
**"Tap out." Ironhide demanded the smaller autobot, who stared venomously into Ironhides optics; then laughed. "You wish." He retorted, kneeing him in the tanks, he grabbed the back of Ironhides neck and brought it down hard on his risen shoulder pad, Ironhide choked on a noise, Energon spilling from his injured nasal ridge, when he pulled back, Sideswipe kneed him in the tanks again, wrapped his legs around Ironhides waste, he rammed his elbow into the side of the older autobots face, then twisted his legs, so he ended up being the one on top. **  
  
**"Tap out." Sideswipe sneered with a devilish smirk, Ironhide smirked back, he threw the mech off him with little effort, Sideswipe hit the impenetrable glass wall with a loud thud, and landed on his side on the floor, the breath was knocked right out of him. Bluestreaks vents kicked up a notch... He was stronger then he used to give him credit for. He tossed the red twin like a dirty rag and was back up on his feet in a sparkbeat.

“if you’re teaching Blue, Why is Sideswipe there and not him?”The gray autobot nearly jumped, Rodimus, he’d come out of no where, the sniper really didnt have a clue how long he’d been watching, he was too occupied on the fight. Rodimus sneered at the sight of his _friend_ being tossed aside by the brute, he scowled at Ironhide, and ironhide scowled right back. “Because ‘es still recovering.” Ironhide retorted.

“You know how many times I had to go to battle when I was ‘ _Still recovering._ ’” Rodimus narrowed his optics at Ironhide. “This ain’t battle, its trainin’” The heavy gunner said slowly, making sure Rodimus understood. Sideswipe moaned, he rolled onto his aft and rubbed at his face. “Oh come _ooon_.” Rodimus drawled. “Hecan’t learn by watching. He needs some hands on. Ill fight him.” Rodimus said with a generous smile, he gestured for Bluestreak to join him. “Ill go easy.”

“He’s right.” Prowl chimed in. “You look well enough to fight Bluestreak. Its just a spar, It’ll help exercise those gears since you’ve been letting them atrophy for a few days now.” Bluestreak casted a cautious sideways look to Ironhide, who was giving Bluestreak a look as well, one that said ‘ill shut it down right now if you need me too.’ Bluestreak gave a nervous laughing sound. “Sure, I can try it.” Ironhide sighed out warily, but couldn’t go against Bluestreaks wants, all he could do, was ask. “Ya sure?” to which, the sniper replied with a determined nod, he got up from his seat and joined Rodimus on the course.

Rodimus helped Sideswipe onto his pedes, he tried to slide off his friends help by shrugging off the offered hand, and standing himself, The orange and yellow autobot was either oblivious or he simply didn’t care for Sideswipe public rejection. He waited for the red twin to exit, before he turned and addressed Bluestreak. “Ill go easy.” he repeated, bringing up his fists. Bluestreak wanted to prove that he wasn’t useless. He wanted to show others that he could defend himself, he knew how most the autobots saw him: the one who chose long range because he was too afraid to risk fighting up close. That wasn’t entirely a lie, he was afraid to fight up close, and after what happened with Vortex, he was no longer afraid. He was _terrified._

He had to start bettering himself now, it couldn’t wait. A battle could come at any moment, and he needed to be more ready. Bluestreak didn’t want to hide anymore, he didnt want to be weak. So, Instead of waiting for Rodimus to hit him first, Bluestreak sprang, the two began punching, blocking eachothers strikes with their forearms. The orange autobot had been doing good: blocking his hits, until the gray doorwinger ducked a swipe by bending down, he struck rodimus in his elbow joint, then reered up and landed a hit directly to his face.

Rodimus growled when he came back into focus, which barely took a second, he grabbed Bluestreaks retreating wrists, then threw him against the glass wall, he pummeled his fists into Bluestreaks face, one after the other, as if it was life or death. The doorwinger lifted up his forearms to defend himself, knowing thee punches were being held back. They were soft, they hurt, but they didn’t hurt enough.

Bluestreak bashed his head into Rodimus’s, the young warrior stumbled back, using the large bolder as a crutch to keep him upright, his hand curled around a large branch, when Bluestreak advanced, he whipped it out and struck Bluestreak in the face with it. After it’d hit him, the youngling snatched the branch, then used it to force Rodimus foreword, Rodimus quickly saw where it was going, and adapted, he used it against Bluestreak to push himself foreword, he snagged Bluestreak by his throat, once more he threw the other against something: this time it was a rock, he hit it at an akward angle, bending his doorwing harshly.

Bluestreak looked up to defend himself, but let out a cry of pain when his enemy drove three fingers into a seam at his side, he curled in on himself a pathetic whine escaping his vents, the pressure point sending waves of immobilizing pain rushing through him . No. This wasn’t it. It hurt like the pit, but he needed to win, he needed to be stronger. Images of Vortex cycled through him and his frame began to tremble., this time it wasn't with fear.

Rodimus’s frame relaxed, he looked down at Bluestreak, realizing he may have tried a bit to much. “Hey, You okay? I might’ve gotten carried away.” Ironhide was legit growling in the background, Prowls wing flicked every time it changed pitch. “Ya said ya’d go easy on’em.” Ironhide began foreword, ready to get the youngling out of there at a seconds noticed, it made the weapon specialist sick, watching him get hurt. Rodimus’s vents puffed as he helped Bluestreak back onto his feet.

He just now noticing he hadn’t answered. “Blue? You good?” Bluestreaks answer was to spin around, punch his thigh, his tanks, then the base of his throat in three rapid strikes, he grabbed Rodimus by his audio and used all his upperbody strength smash his face straight down into the floor. Prowls wings dropped, Ironhide stopped growling; upon seeing rodimus aft up, face down. He returned to his seat next to a pouting Sideswipe.

“Yea, I think ‘es good.” Ironhide smirked, and leaned back. Bluestreak backed up, his optics flickered, his processor was sending him a thousand different signals, he didn’t know which one to follow, he barely registered his opponent before him, as Rodimus sloppily got onto his pedes. He said nothing, lips set in a terse, peeved off line. The tint in his optics said it all: He was done fucking around. They sprang at eachother again.

Bluestreak vented hard, bringing forth his anger, all his negative emotions into each swing he delivered, and swing he blocked. Rodimus crashed his fist into the gray autobots side. Bluestreak retaliated, he began dominating the other mech, using what he saw ironhide do sometimes, his hits didn’t land as hard as they could have, but it was still an attack, he forced the orange mech back.

He wanted so badly to be able to do this, One day, he was going to end Vortex’s life. Prowl was right, he had to start somewhere. Everything began to blurr, he blindly punched out but it seamed Rodimus wanted to play dirty, because he dropped to his knees, so Bluestreaks fist would strike the air. It set him off balance, he tipped foreword, and before the gray autobot could right himself, he had just enough time to look down, Rodimus sprung up, driving his shoulder directly into Bluestreaks face on the way up.

It was a hard hit, much harder then the others, Bluestreak heard the crack, he tasted his own energon, white flashed in his vision, overcoming it, he stumbled back, suddenly blinded. He heard Ironhide yelling at the smooth plated mech.

_Vortex didn’t wait, He advanced in a calm manor, he smirked as he dropped his sword to the floor, Bluestreak watched for a miliclick as it fell,Vortex brought back his fist, and delivered one crunching punch to the younglings face. Bluestreak lost his balance, it wouldn’ve have mattered anyway, Vortex kicked him directly in the chest, sending him crashing to his back._

Bluestreak moaned, helm spinning. He lifted himself up and took a look around, he was in the training bay, laying on the floor, with Rodimus looking down at him with worried optics. “You alright? I di~” Rodimus’s body blocked out some of the light above him, his words vanished, replaced..

“ _~Prowl would be very disappointed in you, Young one.” Vortex informed the youngling, whilst he trapped his legs together between his. He put his palm to Bluestreaks panel, he squirmed, but it didnt stop his panel from jetting open when Vortex pressed the right spot. He wasted no time clutching his spike with his massive servo. No. He knew how this ended, He wasn’t letting it happen again. He would not lay there and accept it._

_Bluestreak lifted his hand, which was not restrained, Vortex was too busy inspecting him to think for a moment that Bluestreak would actually fight back now~ good for him, the gray autobot jerked to the side, using the momentum to strike Vortex as hard as he could, right on the middle of his throat. He slid out from underneith, then sprang foreword while he wheezed, trying to pull in a vent from his crushed vocalizer. The autobot stood to his full height, frame seething, shaking. He could definitely do this._

“B-bluestreak wh*zzt* the frack? _” Vortex’s chopped up voice shouted out at him, Bluestreak paid no mind, tackling the decetpicon to the ground while he was vulnerable. He grabbed_ Rodimus’s entire face with one of his hands, and bashed the back of his helm to the floor not once, not twice, but three times, before he lifted his servo from his face, so it could patchily transform into a blaster. Ironhide snapped up the second he saw it starting the transformation. “Bluestreak.” He said loudly, it didn’t get the mechs attention.

Rodimus was frozen, staring up into Bluestreaks bleach white optics, as the youngling settled himself to straddle him, and keep him down. “..I...Ironhide?” the orange mech said unsteadily. “You’re not so big now that im training huh?” Bluestreak growled out, he pressed the blaster to his cheek, face void of any emotion, though his optics displayed everything his body could not. Behind him, Ironhide punched in a code to the training bay and ran directly for the gray mech, who abruptly changed his mind.

“I’m not gonna kill you.” Bluestreak said sympathetically. He reaimed his gun at Rodimus’s panel. “Just hurt.” Ironhide grabbed Bluestreaks shoulders and yanked him off Rodimus. The blaster shot, hitting Rodimus right in his tanks. Needless to say, he started screaming. The gunshot jolted Bluestreak aware, his optics flickered back to their usual milky blue, He looked up, there was a wall in his face. His hands were forced behind his back, and Ironhides shadow loomed over him.

Ironhide saw his wings loosen, and knew he was back. “Ya there?” Ironhide asked quietly, Sideswipe was helping Prowl drag Rodimus out of the dome, to the medical bay. Bluestreak turned to see this, a bit shaken up. He nodded though, his vents cycling loudly. It dawned on him, just what he’d done. He shot someone, a friend, an autobot. He really was a traitor. His fist clenched again, the blaster at his right began charging up, Ironhide quickly grabbed the blaster hand, he stabbed open a panel with his pinky digit and pulled out a chip, the weapon immediately detransformed.

“Yer not getting’ this back.” Ironhide told him sternly, before he wrapped one of his large arms around his shoulders. Bluestreak allowed himself to be pulled into Ironhides metals, his bigger frame acting as a shield, blocking him from his sins, from the eyes of the universe. His body blocked out the retreating three forms of those he betrayed.

“I just...”He breathed, Ironhide held him a little tighter. “’es gonna be okay, told ‘im no but it was his choice. ‘e got what was commin’ ta ‘im.” Ironhides words lifted the younglings spirits, just a little bit. The shaken youngling wondered out of the training course, and sat on the same bench he had mere minutes before, face dropped into his hands, and he began moaning and groaning about how bad of a person he was. Ironhide sighed out, he dug for a rag in his subspace then got on his hands and knees, to scrub up the energon.

-

It was half an hour of remourseful silence, that was until his brother returned. Prowl walked in, wiping some of Rodimus’s Energon of his arms and hands. His optics landed on Bluestreak as he approached, and the young mech ducked his helm. Well slag, he was In for it now, Prowl did not look happy~ but he didn't look pissed either. He was ... Kind of In between.  
  
"Come with me." He said, hands behind his back he nodded towards the entrance/exit. "To my office." Bluestreak vented hard, he was prepared to suffer the consequences. He spared Ironhide a single look before he left; one the heavy gunner missed, because he was focusing on scrubbing out a particularly thick splotch of Energon that was already staining the floor.  
  
Bluestreak stared at the floor as he followed Prowl out of the dome, and back onto the ark. "I should've listened to a Ironhide, you weren't ready." Prowl said slowly, he stopped at his offices door, then used a single arm to push it open for Bluestreak to enter first. "We all know it was an accident, but you know very well that there needs to be repercussions."  
  
"Is he okay?"  
  
"He will make a full recovery, but, you are not on their good list, so letting you go because of the circumstances is not an option." Prowl studied his look carefully. He didn't have much of a look at anything, Bluestreak was still staring down at the floor, frame tense. Prowl sat at his desk and Bluestreak joined him at the seat set up directly before it.  
  
"I have not spoken to the Prime yet, but I think confiscating your weapons for a few days is a good start . Also, Ratchet offered to have you clean his medical bay as further punishment." He paused, flicking through a Datapad, optics zooming in. "Department K4-X lost several vehicles In the latest decepticon attack." He looked Bluestreak in the optics. "Their base has been partially destroyed, over the next couple weeks the humans will be moving to our base. You will act as stand-in transport for the soldiers until a reasonable amount of the vehicles have been replaced."  
  
"So I'm a taxi." Bluestreak replied, these all seamed a little shallow for betraying and nearly killing a fellow autobot. They were going easy on him. The twins got brig time for starting a fist fight. He understood getting his weapons removed, but... What if they were attacked?

"Yes. If this is agree upon by The Prime then you'll have orders to pack a bag and move to the Delta base until further instructions." Bluestreaks spark dropped. He knew the mechs who were at the delta base, but there was one mech who was not there, that made all the difference. He was going to be alone.  
  
He _deserved_ it.  
  
"What if were attacked again? How will I fight back?" Bluestreak asked slowly, optics inspecting a few cracks in the floor, he wondered for a moment how they got there. "If that happens, your weapons will be returned to you until the fight is over. Like I said. These are not confirmed. I just wanted to give you a heads up. For now, you're confined to base, leaving the premises will warrant further disciplinary action. Do you understand?" Bluestreak nodded, prowl puffed out a sigh.  
  
"Bluestreak. Look at me and use your words." Bluestreak looked up at his brother, clearing his vocalizer. "I understand." He replied sadly. Prowl scratched under his chin, then flicked off his Datapad. "Alright good. I'll get right to Optimus and have the decision to you by the end of the day. You're dismissed." Bluestreak quickly got up and left, wings flat against his back. How could he show his face here again?  


_**  
‘** _ _When,_

_when the fire’s at my feet again_

_And the vultures all start circling_

_They’re whispering,_

_You’re out of time”_

_But still I rise._

 

_This is no mistake, no accident_

_When you think the final nail is in_

_Think again_

_Don’t be surprised_

_I will still rise_

_-_ **_ Rise, Katy Perry. _ **


End file.
